


Fast Things Change

by silver9mm



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bloodplay, Bottom!Richard, Dark, Domestic Discipline, Drinking, Drug Use, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt Richard Hammond, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Painplay, Richard Hammond's Crash, Shaving Sex, Social Anxiety, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Watersports, top!James, wordy as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 123,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hangar was a dark maw Richard stepped out of. I wanted to scream at James to stop the car as we pulled past him to park; to be so close now and move even inches away was torture. Richard looked small and wild-eyed standing beside his beloved Porsche. He wrapped his arms around himself as we stopped, shivering. James stared straight ahead when I looked to him, but I knew he'd not leave me alone for long.</p><p>I walked slowly away from the car towards Richard, who wouldn't meet my gaze, either, and I felt as if the world was losing shape and they were both sliding away from me, that the ground would dissolve in the distance left between us and I was about to drop into oblivion. I reached him, but did not speak or touch him, so profound was his agitation. I waited and after a few seconds he swayed a little from side to side and raised his head.</p><p>"You and James... I remembered today," he said, voice shaking and low. His eyes were glassy and the left was blood red at the outside corner. The brown iris looked larger than the right, as if a thumb had smudged the colour outside the lines and it had bled as a result, the only evidence this was not quite the same man I had met in the States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> James and Richard have a special relationship they've been hiding from everyone. Vacationing in Miami in 2005, they meet a woman who fills a space in both their lives. Everything is turned upside down, first by Jezza, then Richard's accident a year later. It's about Richard and how his friends and lovers accept and save him.
> 
> James saves his life  
> Jezza saves his self respect  
> Tara saves his sanity  
> Mindy saves his soul
> 
> Title from something James May said, that the only thing that scares him is how fast things can change.  
> This is a giant wall of words. I apologise for nothing except character inconsistencies. Unbeta'd.
> 
> Some visuals---[sfw](http://silver9mm.tumblr.com/tagged/ftc) and [nsfw](http://unable-to-lose-this-image.tumblr.com/tagged/ftc)\---that inspired me along the way  
> 

_Cause she’s up_  
_And I am low_  
_Watching you_  
_Watching her play this game_

 

 

The two men were seated across from each other in a booth that offered privacy from every angle except mine, and what drew my attention first was what was happening beneath the table, not above. The shorter of the two, and I guessed we would almost see eye to eye at my 5'6", had his feet flat on the ground and spread wide apart because his friend’s long legs were stretched out between them, and though he squirmed a few times and shifted in his jeans he never once tried to close his legs, or even bumped accidentally against the man’s khakis. He was all nut brown colours; hair, eyes, tanned skin. Caught in his spiky hair, a few drops of late summer rain glittered at times under the lights, as did his wedding ring. He kept his eyes mostly on his food, though they occasionally flicked up to his companion’s face, revealing them to be huge, round, and complemented by a quick, bright smile. A smile which, despite the lines accompanying the action proving it was common to his face, somehow looked scared. Wary. Nervous, at least.

Nothing appeared intimidating about the company he kept. Not at first glance, anyway. Wavy brown hair fell across the man's cheeks, just brushing his shoulders as he kept an ear cocked to the noises around him. Even when he leaned back he kept the differential tilt, as if he knew they were going to be interrupted and he had a polite brush-off ready. And it would be a brush-off, judging by the dark blue eyes that never left his friend’s face. I didn’t even have to disguise the fact I was watching, fascinated, they were so focused on one another. Perhaps I had seemed utterly absorbed in my work when they had chosen to sit there; just an unobservant young woman with my headphones on and laptop open.  
  
They drank beers, ordered, waited for their food, the dark eyed one talking almost constantly. The taller of the two got up several times, extracting his legs carefully and replacing them as purposefully each time. Several pints in and the other looked a little uncomfortable finally in his tight jeans, and I watched him _ask_ to go. Again, legs were moved to accommodate the necessary freedom, but positions were resumed when he was re-seated.  
  
I was transported as I spied on them, deviant imagination running wild, projecting their story. I watched the smaller man’s mouth as he talked and saw it as something to be silenced and abused, because that was love between them. Their casual movements and easy laughter suggested a profound friendship, one shaped over the years by experiences shared, by disagreements, and moments of joy; their conversation relayed in looks, gestures and glances that only co-conspirators would be able to interpret. A protectiveness came over me, watching the man with the blue eyes watch the other. I saw him pushing his friend to extremes, to screaming, to tears, because it kept him sane, because he loved him. There was clinical interest on the taller man’s part, too, like keeping a machine running at its best. It was about controlling something out of control for him. They were both getting something out of the subtle game being played and both were happy to be giving to the other.  
  
The food came and went, a few more beers were had, more maneuvers to the men’s room, and I couldn’t let my private little show go unappreciated. I ordered a couple pints sent to their table, with regards. They looked pleasantly surprised and both raised their glass and smiled at me after the bartender gestured in my direction. I smiled in return and closed my laptop, gathered my bag, but because he was standing so close to my chair as I stood, I was startled and sat back down hard. I looked up into dark eyes and a face carrying an emotion I didn’t recognise at that time, though it made me blush anyway.  
  
"Ah! Hello," he said and offered his chill palm, standing me up while taking a step back. I was right, he was barely an inch taller than I. "You look like you’re just leaving. Do you have a moment to join us first?"

I nodded, a smile creeping across my face with every word because of his British accent. I had certainly not expected that, nor his throaty, smooth voice.

"I’m Richard," he said and I realised he was still holding my hand, gently leading me to his friend. Not to his table, not to join them, but taking me to the other man. "And this is James."

He bowed his head a little as he said it and I felt a flutter in my belly as James stood, looking down at me and offering his hand. Richard hadn't let go of my left, and James covered my right with his and I stood between them for the first time. I felt a current pass through us, and shivered.  
  
"Oh, are you cold? ’ave a seat—here’s a jacket for your lap!" Richard bustled me into the booth and picked up a soft leather jacket and laid it over my knees, fingers brushing my legs. The jacket smelled of metal and it did warm me and I looked again at its owner. He had the most curious expression on his face- a small smile a bit off to one side, but his gaze, which was back on Richard, seemed almost sinister. Richard was smiling at me.  
  
"Thanks for the drinks, uh?"  
  
"Tara, my name’s Tara. I didn't mean to disturb you—"  
  
"Didn’t," James spoke for the first time. The way he stared at Richard had to be unnerving.  
  
"Nah, not a bit—hoping we weren't recognised is all!" Richard laughed a little.  
  
"Recognised?"  
  
They looked at each other and grimaced.

"Eh, we’re on the telly in the UK, thought that’s why you got us a pint," James said.  
  
"Oh, well, no, I—" I realised I was caught. "You both just look nice," I covered up.  
  
"Nice, is it?" James said and laughed. He raised his hand for the bartender, and Richard flinched as he did. I watched him flatten his hands on the table, then glance at me before lowering his head a bit. Then he jumped and I felt his leg press hard against mine and I didn't have to look down to know James was forcing Richard's legs open again by stretching his own out. James leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest and looked back and forth at us slowly. I felt unreasonably guilty and conscientious, having no clue why; just those surprisingly dark blue eyes on me.  
  
I felt naked, and like I wanted to be.  
  
"Have you drunk too much to drive?" James asked me. The bartender brought my third beer and I said so. "Well, we've had—" They exchanged glances and Richard cocked an eyebrow. "A lot," he surmised. "And we need a driver."  
  
"And a courier," Richard tacked on. James gave him a withering look, but didn’t correct him.  
  
"Courier? You want me…to get something?"  
  
"Buy something for us—it’s not drugs," James said at the look I gave him. "But it’s not produce either…"  
  
"And go where?" I couldn’t believe I was encouraging them. I opened my computer.  
  
"To the house we’re staying at, a friend’s beach house," James supplied. "Not far."

I felt James tap his shoes against the bottom of our seat and Richard sat up straighter and put his hands in his lap.  
  
"Ok. And so, if you two are on TV, show me. What is it?"  
  
James reached out and spun my laptop around and tapped a few keys and turned it back to me and there they where. BBC. Cars. I think I'd even surfed past their show at some point.  
  
"There’s three of you…" I said, at a loss.  
  
"We’re on holiday from that ’orrible man there," Richard giggled, leaning into me to point.  
  
"And what’s it you want me to buy for you? This is so weird."  
  
"Here," James tapped something into my computer again but hesitated showing me. "Now," he leaned in towards me and Richard sat even straighter, "I’ll understand if you don't want to do this. I just don't want to be recognised, and Richard can't be."

Richard thumbed his wedding ring, I think without realising it.  
  
"I understand," I nodded, more curious than sincere.  
  
The site was a page for a bondage shop about six blocks away. James couldn't hide a blush as it registered what I was looking at. Richard looked at his fingernails and I could just see the toe of James' shoe a few inches from Richard's crotch. His leg was still pressed firmly against mine. I pushed back so would look up at me. He gave me innocent, wide eyes. I imagined in an instant what it was like for James perhaps, to see this man every day, to know his fears and needs, to use against him and pleasure him with. Richard's eyes narrowed and I looked away. I drank my beer and fingered through the website, thinking. After a few seconds James leaned back again and smiled. I blushed this time and Richard saw me clear the computer history.  
  
"So I'm just supposed to trust you two? Because you're on TV? And how do you know I won't tell anybody? Make a scandal, get some money, I don't know. What—"  
  
"You just look nice," James parroted me. Richard laughed nervously and moved his hands across his thighs, fingers sliding against my leg. I shook my head at him and knew why James kept him focused on things like posture. Not that I wanted him to stop touching me.  
  
"Let's go right now," I startled myself saying it, but I wanted them alone, wanted to touch them, to feel the circuit through our bodies again.  
  
"May I go first, please?" Richard asked. James put his foot down and his prisoner disappeared. He turned his disconcerting gaze on me.  
  
"I didn't plan to ask you this," he said gently. "I don't know why I did, really. It's odd. Just felt good to, right. I'm sorry if it was rude."  
  
"No, I mean, it's alright. I was the one being rude. I was watching you two, staring probably. I'm sorry, but I…" I told the truth. "I wanted this to happen."  
  
James stared at me for a long moment, then something in his hand jingled. "We'll follow your lead, then," he said and stood up.  
  
I followed him outside to a car where he opened the driver's door for me and got in behind me. Richard got in only to look disappointed. "Right, I'm not driving. America…"  
  
I sat for a moment and listened to their rustle and breathing before starting the car. This was a rental. I wondered what their own cars were like, they were sure to have a few. I wanted to know what they thought about when they drove, if they were always listening to the machine or if they ever drove with their emotions. If they ever didn't care if the car killed them, or if they felt they were giving life to something. I wanted to know if they ever got hard while driving.  
  
I drove with ease, though I could tell they were both watching me. James seemed to relax quickly, but I kept Richard's interest steering through the streets. With direction, I found the shop. James handed me a list, which I didn't find surprising, and a large fold of cash. I looked at the list, putting the money in my jacket. Richard shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"If there's anything you'd like…" James offered. I looked at him in the mirror to see if he was making fun of me. He was not.  
  
There was several lengths of straps, cuffs, ankle restraints, a blindfold, collar, all in leather. A bundle of bamboo canes—thin, it specified—and several gags. I looked at the dark store, feeling like this was all a game somehow, a scavenger hunt. Harmless. I could leave them to it.  
  
"This might take me a while," I stalled.  
  
"I called already, they have it all. Seemed friendly, I am sure they'd assist you," James' voice almost lulled me. I wanted to hear him speak to me in a dark room where I could only see gleaming eyes watching me, predatory. I met his gaze in the rear view mirror and feeling bold, stared. He held my gaze for a long moment, then looked at Richard—who was looking at his own hands again- then looked lazily back at me. He seemed to smile though his mouth never moved, and I looked away finally, letting him win. I already loved his confidence, his ease in this situation. I wondered, the way things obviously were, if it was hard for him to hide his dominant side from the public.  
  
In the store I did ask for help, in fact I just gave the clerk the list. James was leaning against the car when I emerged, bag-heavy. He moved towards the back door, but only to block me.  
  
"Richard is excited about you, just to have you near. I do want you to come home with us." He reached out and touched my hair, fingers brushing my cheek. He slid his hand deeper, against my neck, thumb caressing the front of my throat. When his fingers wrapped around the back and he gently squeezed, my face got hot in the cold night, a little gasp escaped me and I leaned into him. His sideways smile reappeared.  
  
"Still following your lead, lady," he reminded me and moved his hand to the back of my neck while opening the door and then pushed me in hard. Most the the bags tumbled over Richard, who was in the back seat now too, but he caught me before I fell on my face against him. He gave me a small, apologetic smile and helped settle the stuff on the floor.  
  
"Uh, Captain," Richard said meekly as James got in the car, but he winked at me, "do you want I should find that paper with directions on it?"  
  
"No. Shut up. We are on the beach, which is…that way…behind that tallish office there…" he trailed off, ignoring us and touching all the switches and shifters in front of him briefly. Richard snickered behind his hand and rolled his eyes at me. Without turning, James said, "You have my permission to stop him from talking, Tara."  
  
It wasn't in my nature to hurt anyone, and I don't know why I obeyed him, only that it was easy. Richard dropped his hand and opened his mouth to protest, but I reached out and jammed three fingers of my right hand between his teeth. He grunted and tried to pull back but I caught the back of his head with my left and held him in place. I slid my fingers around inside him, feeling his sharp, even teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth. I was not comfortable being the aggressor, in a situation like this, quite the opposite. My motivation came from James; I found myself wanting to be an extension of his control over this man. I would learn it was not always such a treat to do as James wished me to, especially to Richard, but this first time I felt inspired.  
  
"Suck," I whispered and his lips curled around my fingers and his tongue tightened and pulsed. His eyes were half closed in pleasure and concentration, lashes making shadows on his cheeks. His wide mouth drawing on my fingers made me want to kiss him. The car was finally moving and James was ignoring us. At the next stoplight I pinched Richard's tongue, hard. His lids snapped open and a pained sound came from him and James looked up finally, adjusting the mirror to see us better. I kept Richard's tongue pinned against his teeth by my fingertips and squeezed again. He yelped loudly and brought his hands up to pull mine away, but James stopped him with a simple, "No."  
  
I smiled at Richard and hurt him again. I curled my fingers in his short hair and pulled his head forward, switching between gagging him by shoving my hand far back into his throat, and digging my fingers into his tongue so hard his eyes teared, the drool coming over his lips spattering against his upturned palms in his lap. When he squirmed in my grip I pressed his tongue harder and he groaned into my hand. Checking to make sure James was still watching us, I pulled my hand back so I could kiss him. James put his foot down and the acceleration pushed us together. I gripped Richard's face and felt excitement surge through him into me. I kissed him for a long time, pinning him sideways against the window and using my leg to cover his hands so he couldn't touch me. I touched him though—his cheeks, putting my hands around his throat, pinching at his nipples through his thin dress shirt. When I brought my fingers back up, he squeezed his eyes shut but parted his lips for me and I fucked his mouth a few more times, keeping my mouth near his to feel his breath with my lips when he protested as I bruised his tongue. I heard the tires crunch on pebbles and Richard yelped again as I caught myself with his hair when the car lurched to a stop. I removed my hands from him and kissed his wet lips. He kissed me back then surprised me by picking up my hand and kissing my fingers. When James opened the door behind him and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forcefully out of the car, he stumbled but kept his feet. James handed him keys and then reached in to help me out.  
  
"Would you like me to call you a taxi?" James politely offered an exit one last time, watching Richard move towards the house. He tucked a bit of long hair behind one ear and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"I let you bring me this far…" I said slowly, realising the words myself as I said them. "The bags?"  
  
"He will get them."

Richard was walking back towards us, looking at the ground. James started towards the house and I followed.  
  
Inside, James pointed me to the bathroom. I heard muffled voices through the door, then it opened and James walked past me as I stood at the sink. He turned the shower on and then faced me, waiting. Wordlessly, I slid out of my shoes and reached for my skirt but he beat me to it, unzipping it carefully then hooking his thumbs into my panties, pulling them both to the floor. I bit back a moan as he drug his strong fingers back up my legs and belly and he caught my top and pulled it over my head. He slipped his hands into my bra and cupped my breasts, sliding them out of the material. That sly smile reappeared when he spotted the small bars pierced vertically through my pink nipples. He weighed them in his palms and flicked the metal with his thumbnails.  
  
"Look at me," he said and I did, craning my head back. Richard must have stood like this before him, eyes just level with James' mouth, must have seen a cruel smile twist them. "Such pretty green eyes," he said and tweaked the bars. I gasped, but he held on and pulled.

"Take it off," he instructed and I had to lean forward, my head touching his chest. Putting my hands behind my back pulled on my nipples and it took me longer than ever to unhook my bra. When it came loose, he pinched down hard once and let go, stripping the cloth from my shoulders. He put his hand to my head and ushered me into the shower. I squealed as the water hit me, much too hot at first, but he held me by the hair, keeping me from adjusting it. I whimpered, wanting to push him away, wiggling as the hot water scorched my breasts and belly and ran over my pussy and thighs.  
  
"Good girl," he said, letting go of my hair. I turned the water down and rinsed my face, then felt James press his naked body against mine and he turned me around to face him, pushing me down to my knees. His cock was lying fat along his right leg. He guided my soapy hand to it and as it got hard in my slippery grip it continued to point down. He stepped closer into the spray, holding me still so his cock pressed against my cheek. It was heavy and hard and smooth against my tongue as I lapped at it, trying to suck it into my mouth. He looked down at me and his lips twisted. He dropped the head of his cock into my open mouth pulled my head towards him. It slid down into my throat relentlessly and I struggled as my throat was stretched, but he held my head still and pushed down at the base of his dick, forcing it even farther into my throat. I couldn't breathe and couldn't stop my hands from clutching at his, trying to pry him off me. He gave a short laugh and stepped back, letting me grab his hand for balance. He pointed at the back of the shower, where I squatted and swallowed hard a few times while he rinsed, then got out without shutting the water off. He helped me out and roughly dried me off before pushing me out of the room naked.  
  
Richard looked up from rinsing the opened devices in the kitchen sink. He would later explain the expression on his face to me, driving his Porsche like he was punishing himself, throwing us around curves and bouncing us hard going too fast over the rolling hills, as love. He loved his wife, he told me, because she was soft and small and delicate and surprising and he loved making her happy, giving her children and his time. He protected her, from cameras and questions and from worry. He was strong for her and their children. But when he saw me standing in a nearly empty beach house, naked and smiling at him, he said to me he loved me for _my_ strength. For my fearlessness in the face of judgment and the unknown. For how it seemed and became true that I accepted him so easily. James _had_ seen me watching them and Richard had been horrified, he admitted, when James demanded he talk to me. Neither had expected my effect and just how perceptive I was. Richard said what I'd seen on his face as my hair dripped on the floor the first night we were together, was that I made him see strength in himself where he'd felt shame and lack of control.  
  
I padded towards him and he let me turn him by his hand to face me. I liked that he was barely taller than me because of the way his eyes half closed and his head tilted just-so as I stood close to him and he looked down at my body.  
  
"James can be quite harsh sometimes," he said conspiratorially. He laced his fingers with mine and pulled us so close our lips brushed. "But he's good at what he does." His tongue tickled my lips. "I'm glad you’ve stayed," he whispered. James called his name just then, and Richard obediently let go and walked past me into the steaming room. I licked my lips to taste him and turned to the items on the counter. I was still staring when James reemerged finally, wearing linen. He stood next to me for a moment before picking up something not on his list. It was a stiff collar with a D ring at the front and back, black leather, an inch and a half of wide. He examined it carefully before looking at me.  
  
"Chin up," he tapped me with his right hand under the jaw, making my teeth click together. I looked up at him as he fitted it around my neck, then at his toes as he fastened it. He hooked a finger in the back ring and lifted up. Instantly my face flushed with blood and I gulped for air, but instead of grabbing his hand or struggling, I put my palms flat on his chest and rose up on my toes. He held me there, dangling from his finger for a moment, and put his hand over mine.  
  
"Isn't she sweet," he mused and dropped my collar. "Anything else here I should know about?"  
  
"Extra ties," I pointed. "And cuffs." I had asked the clerk at the store for ones that would match Richard's.  
  
"I see." He took stock and began selecting things. "Go sit." He gestured to a large, overstuffed chair. I curled into it and waited. James moved his accouterments near to me, putting them in various places around us.

"Collar him when he comes out," he said to me. I shivered, but didn't argue. He centered a squat leather ottoman in the space before me and then went back to the kitchen to make himself a drink. Richard emerged finally with a towel around his waist. He looked uncertain, nervous again. He eyed my collar, chewing on his lips, then looked to James.  
  
"Oh, go on!" James spat, flicking his hand in my direction. Richard let me tug him to his knees by the hand and even leaned forward so I could buckle the collar around his neck. When it was secure, I ran my hands over his wide shoulders and down his chest and stomach, plucking at the towel around his narrow hips, but before I could win it off of him James sat his glass down where the collar had been and smacked him hard across the face with an open palm. He was knocked back onto his heels and hands and the towel came loose anyway.  
  
"You've had enough cuddling up to her, I think," James said, standing over him. "She won't help you. She wants to see you hurt, just look at her face."

Richard scooted backwards but James advanced on him, nearly standing on his body, pinning him against the heavy leather couch.

"Shall we make you scream for her? It's been a very long time since I drew blood on you—and we have time for you to heal. Knees," James pointed and Richard scrambled up. He put his hands behind his back when James produced leather handcuffs, his breath quickening. James attached a leash from the cuffs to the back of his collar, so Richard was forced to either hold his hands at an awkward angle or strangle himself. James pulled him to his feet by his arm and sat him on the low ottoman.

As James secured his ankles to the stool, Richard looked at me for the first time since James had touched him. I was the first to look away. Whatever boundaries Richard built in his everyday life worked, keeping a madness from his eyes. What was happening to him now was stripping away his usual identity and exposing something hungry. James stood, gripped Richard's collar, and bent him backwards over the ottoman he was now tied to, and his cock slapped his belly. James put his other hand on it and Richard bucked his hips hard, pushing into his grasp.  
  
"At least his mouth isn't the only thing big on him, hm?" James looked at me and smirked.  
  
Richard's chest heaved as he breathed upside down, and after stroking his cock a few times in a tight grip, James pulled him back up. He was at the right height for James to rub his crotch against Richard's open mouth. Everything about him was becoming wanton. The playful flirting and touching at the bar, the looks, the obedience to James, all paled in his willingness now to be used. He sucked at James' fingers when they came near his mouth, his big eyes never leaving James' face. James pulled his cock free of the linen and brought it to Richard's mouth. Its downward angle made it effortless for him to seal off Richard's throat as it slid in and each thrust made more of his cock disappear into his mouth, Richard swallowing convulsively and writhing at times. Long strands of saliva soon flowed down Richard's chest, dripping from his lips and James' cock, lubricating it as it was shoved down his throat again and again. He put his hands on the back of Richard's head and jammed his cock deep enough that I could see it swelling Richard's throat and he held it there until Richard fought him, belly flexing and shoulders twisting, trying not to wretch, but James was relentless, and I saw the moment Richard gave up. I saw his body relax and accept what was happening to it. He coughed and gagged when James finally withdrew, shook his head pitifully a few times but opened his mouth anyway each time James insisted reentry. I had never seen anything so hot in my life and squirmed in my chair.  
  
James finally shoved Richard's head away, slipping his dick into his pants and picking up a thin bamboo cane off the table. He walked around Richard, letting the cane scratch over his skin.

"Tara," he said, and I noticed for the first time how much it sounded like "terror" when he said my name, "that piece, bring it here." He motioned to a black ball gag, seamless and rubber, with a ball big enough I didn't think I could get my mouth around it. I slid from my chair to the floor and moved to James' side on my knees, offering it up to him.  
  
"No, you put it on him," James instructed.

I turned to Richard, keeping my eyes on his mouth. He refused to open his lips to me as I touched the ball gag to them, moving his head when I tried to force it between his teeth. I didn't want to look into his eyes again, and I could tell that's what he wanted. I was still unnerved and didn't want him to know, or how turned on I already was by what I was seeing. I let out a little startled hiss as James demonstrated his impatience by slapping the cane on my shoulder. I hadn't felt pain in a long time and realised I was scared of it, too. I steeled myself. My back stung, but I wanted Richard to see how strong I could be, that he wasn't the only one who needed to feel these things, who needed to be pushed. I met his gaze, biting my lip, hoping he could see the arousal on my face, wanting him to see how much his discomfort was turning me on and how much I wanted to join him, how much I wanted to be a part of what they were both feeling. I pressed the ball to his mouth again so it pinched his lips against his teeth. He opened his mouth this time, slowly and purposefully. I tightened it behind his head so he couldn't push it out and looked up at James, putting my hands behind my back. He gazed down at me for a moment, expressionless. I didn't know if I was surprising him or impressing him or disturbing him, but I realised I wanted to feel everything he could think of to do. I wanted to know what was going on inside his head, I wanted him to show me his desires, I wanted to do everything I could to please him. My thighs were slippery when I parted my knees, arching my back, exposing pussy and breasts to him.  
  
I flinched when he twitched the cane across my breasts. The next time he hit me it landed across the tops of my thighs and I opened my legs wider even as I trembled, inviting him there. James stepped behind me, his legs holding my arms behind my back, and slapped the thin cane across my mound and pussy lips, without much force but it still stung fiercely. He hit me ten times, the last causing me to reflexively close my legs with its bite. He stepped away from me and I heard Richard make a noise of protest behind his gag. I looked over my shoulder and saw James with a blindfold. Richard shook his head, trying to stop it from happening but there was no escaping the darkness. I was dragged to my feet, facing a now blind and silent Richard. James cupped my wet cunt, slapping it and sliding his long fingers into me, making me gasp and wiggle in his grip, then his thick cock replaced his fingers. He grabbed me by the hips and thrust hard, lifting me onto my toes. Off-balance, I had only Richard's shoulders to grab onto as James fucked me, and Richard rubbed his face against my hand, his own hard cock straining between his thighs. I leaned down and took it in my mouth, letting James' thrusts push it into my throat. I rocked between them, pussy and mouth full, until James pulled me away from Richard.

He gripped my forearms, face buried in my hair and I froze, feeling like a bird in cat's claws, but he was away and out of me after a moment. He selected a handful of straps and cuffs and I stood in a daze as he fitted them around my ankles and wrists, and then James picked up his cane and without warning smacked the insides of Richard's thighs with it. But just as I had done, Richard opened his legs widely, his head falling back. The cane raised welts on Richard's skin, striping it purple in some spots, and when it snapped after a particularly hard hit, one which made Richard double over involuntarily, James threw the broken stick down and turned to me so quickly I took a startled step back. He snaked out a hand, catching me by the hair, and dragged me towards Richard. With his other hand he positioned Richard's cock, sliding it against my pussy until he found no resistance and when Richard rocked his hips, forcing himself into me, I cried out, wrapping my arms around his neck and wiggling to draw him deeper. James shook me by the hair.  
  
"Hold still!"  
  
I tried to obey him but Richard was fire inside me. I swiveled my hips, making him groan. James grabbed me by the hair again and slapped my cheek. I couldn't stop from baring my teeth at him.  
  
"I have just the thing for that," James said and caught my face in his hand, digging at my cheeks until I opened my mouth so he could fit a pear-shaped plug between my teeth. It stretched my jaw open and flattened my tongue, pushing back into my mouth until I was sure it would choke me but it stopped just short of cutting off my air. He unhooked Richard's wrists from behind his back only to wrap them around me, connecting them to the back of my collar by a short strap. James pulled my arms under Richard's and secured my wrists as well, attaching them to his collar from behind. Richard held his hands so they put no tension on my throat and I did the same. I was balancing myself on my toes slightly, legs spread wide, Richard buried as deep as he could go, until James seized one of my ankles and secured it to the opposite leg of the ottoman that Richard was tied to. He did the same to my other ankle and then all my weight was on Richard. James grabbed us both by the back of our collars and drew us apart.  
  
"We're going to play a game now. You are going to make Richard come, Tara, if you can keep from strangling him." He lifted my face to his, fingers under my chin. "If I start, I'm not going to stop until he comes. I want you to close your eyes when you're ready for me to begin." Despite myself I began to shake. I felt Richard caress my back, trying to sooth me. James picked up another cane from the table.  
  
"We're waiting on you, princess," he murmured. "Richard has to have this. He can't seem to function without pain in his life. But it doesn't always have to be physical pain. You can give him what he needs right now without any harm coming to him, just this once." Richard was very still, listening to James. I leaned into him and felt him press into my belly from the inside and all at once I wanted his comes so badly I felt like James could flay my skin off and I would still want Richard. I closed my eyes.  
  
The first strike of the cane across my lower back caused me to jerk my arms reflexively and Richard coughed, reminding me our movements were intertwined. The next blow left stripes of agony on my back and I could only bounce to try to relieve the pain. Richard spread his thighs and pulled us closer together, supporting me in his arms but I thrashed in his grip as James let the cane down on my ass and back over and over. I screamed, bucking my hips, feeling like Richard's cock was an antenna, a conduit for the sharp, stinging pain raining on me. I broke into a cold sweat and the darkness of my tightly closed eyes seemed to be getting brighter somehow. I shrieked, fighting my bonds, unable to keep from dragging down on Richard's collar. I felt him buck beneath me, struggling to breathe, but my body was screaming at me to defend myself, to get away and I couldn't help trying to use him as purchase to escape. There was no where to go, of course, I was tied tightly and I had agreed to this, and slowly the reality I could be James' target indefinitely forced me to concentrate. I drew a deep breath in through my nose, my mouth overly full and stretched wide, and focused on Richard's body in mine, on how our flesh seemed to be together and there was a sucking sensation every time we pulled apart or came together even a fraction. I concentrated on how hot his flesh seemed to be, how cold the air in comparison was when it found and cooled a trickle of sweat that dripped from him onto my thighs, and the cane leaving welts on my flesh did not seem as fiery as it first had.

I sat straighter and Richard slipped into me the final few centimeters and the head of his cock pressed something inside me that made me feel light, like someone was touching something warm to the centre of my forehead. I let the pain wash over me, felt it on every inch of my skin, and then imagined Richard taking it away from me. I drew that feeling into me and threaded it through me until it wrapped around Richard's body where I held it inside of me and I surrendered it to him. I began to breathe in time to James bringing the cane across my ass, my hips jerking rhythmically. The cane snapped and when James grabbed my hair, wrenching my head back to look up at him, his eyes were dark and glossy.  
  
"Is there someone to see these marks?" he asked. I blinked in surprise, but then shook my head.  
  
"Just me?"  
  
I nodded solemnly. He looked at me for a long moment and I saw his lips quiver just a little. He let go of my hair and stripped Richard's blindfold off, twisting him by the top of his head to face with me.  
  
"Watch her," James said, selecting a new cane. "You're her beacon, Richard, you'll save her from her pain. She wants you to feel nothing but pleasure, and you're prolonging her agony." He laughed a little, mockingly, stepping back where I couldn't see him.

James hit me once and paused, allowing me to writhe and grind on Richard. I thrashed and Richard grunted, pointing his toes so I was raised up, teetering, and he was the only thing anchoring me from floating away with the pain. He locked eyes with me and became my world. His arms tightened around me and as Richard held me, James controlled my body with pain until I was awash with it. It poured over me, seeping from my scalp and running over my skin until the soles of my feet were soaked with it. I felt pulled in every direction, all my senses screaming, but little by little, with each tiny muscle movement of his eyelids, with each dilation and contraction of his pupils and every unfocused look of pleasure, Richard was winning. The warring sensations merged in my belly and exploded in a fusion of ecstasy and I felt tears build and begin to stream from my eyes, and Richard's shone with excitement. I felt the tapping of the cane on my skin as a wet, constant heat which inspired me to undulate on Richard's lap, muscles tense, his cock stirring and stretching me.

James cursed and another cane broke, making me scream, and Richard came. He blew a long breath through his nose, the sound of a winded racehorse, and he thrust his whole body against mine, stretching my tied legs taunt. His arms jerked down as he tried to grab my hips to grind into me and the collar attached to his wrists tightened on my throat and my head dipped back into darkness. The plug in my mouth melted, overflowed and poured into my nose and over my eyes. My ears filled with silence and I could only feel Richard's hands on my back, holding me up and killing me.  
  
There was the scraping of metal on metal somewhere in the blackness, and then I felt cold. I was still sitting upright, which surprised me, and I inhaled sharply, swallowed and blinked. The second blink brought forms into focus and with the third I could see James circling behind Richard, holding him slightly away from me by his collar, which allowed the air to cool the sweat we were both slicked with. Richard twitched his still hard cock and arousal twisted inside me. I protested, whining, as James grabbed Richard's elbows and drug him away from me, pausing to clip my bound wrists to the front of my own collar.  
  
He deposited Richard face down on the floor on his knees, ass in the air, and he scooped up a small bottle of lubrication. Pulling his hard, arcing cock from his pants, he smeared a palm full of it over himself. He kicked Richard's legs farther apart and Richard whimpered, still shuddering from his climax, his swollen member hanging red and unprotected under his stomach. It jumped when James slid wet fingers across his asshole and Richard's toes curled, and he braced himself with his bound hands beneath his chest. I saw his eyes roll back before he closed them tightly as James' dick replaced his probing fingers. He squatted and used his weight to slowly push himself into Richard.

There was a long moment where they were both motionless, then Richard began making clipped moaning noises behind his gag and James let out a slow breath and I watched half his shaft disappear in one smooth motion. He reached down and pressed on the base of his cock firmly as he withdrew, until just the head of his dick remained hidden, then, still pushing down with his hand, he sank in again. He shifted his position, moving down onto his knees, leaning over Richard's back as he tried to arch up, pushing with his hands. James thrust against him, finally putting his cock all the way in and Richard collapsed, writhing. James kept up his rhythm. It was only a few more strokes before his angle and pressing had the desired effect. Richard trembled violently and he cried out again, his swollen cock unexpectedly pouring a clear stream of fluid on the floor between his splayed knees, the head of James' cock having coaxed another load from his prostate. James let out a string of obscenities and grabbed Richard's collar, pulling his head and chest up and Richard could only hold himself up on his hands and flex his back to try to breathe. James put his other hand on Richard's ribs, forcing him to bear his weight, locking Richard into place beneath him, and he hammered his hips into him, growling into his hair, his own curls hiding him in shadow.

Richard looked on the verge of collapse, gasping and flushed as he was fucked and when James finally let him go his back spasmed from being kept at such an angle, causing him to slam back onto James, who groaned and pulled back to place the head of his dick on the soft skin of Richard's scrotum so his thick, white come could slide down the length of Richard's cock and pool on the floor with what was already there.  
  
James sat back on his heels. "Fucking brilliant," he said brightly.

He gave Richard's exposed genitals and ass a long look and I saw devious ideas give a gleam to his eyes, but he seemed to store them away for another time. Richard slid his knees together and rested on his elbows, hands holding up his head. He pushed at the ball gag with his tongue, wanting to close his mouth after an hour, and James relented there too, unbuckling the gag from Richard's bowed head. He had to pry it from between his teeth and they snapped together loudly. James left the collar on Richard's neck but freed his wrists and slipped the ankle cuffs off before letting him sit up.  
  
"Come with me," he said and disappeared into the bathroom. Richard climbed unsteadily to his feet and turned to me. I was still tied with my legs pried open and my pussy exposed and dripping. I blinked up at Richard and I couldn't stop myself from whining at him.  
  
"I can't," he whispered and backed away and I was left alone. I heard the shower again, but after just a few minutes Richard emerged, wet and in boxers. He headed for me with a washcloth in his hand.  
  
"James said I can free you, but he said I have to ask you if…if…" he stammered a little and blushed, the corners of his wide mouth curling in embarrassment. "Well, would you like for me to help you—you know, get off, now, or you could wait until tomorrow and we both um, come together? James' rules."  
  
He gently pressed my head forward and unbuckled the gag. I was so glad to have it gone, but I bit my lip to keep from answering too quickly. I knew James wanted me to stay with them, I felt the truth of that with every fiber of my being when I let myself relax beyond my insistent arousal. I knew he wanted me, and that was why Richard was touching me now and not him. Richard gently stripped me of the leather until I was naked once more and put his hands on my parted knees, peering at me, waiting for me to decide. I could feel his breath on my pussy and I wanted his mouth on me so much, I wanted his tongue lapping at my clit until I came on his face, fingers in his hair. Instead, I slowly closed my legs and brought my hands to his face. He smiled at me as I leaned in to kiss him. Our mouths seemed made to fit together and were both sensitive because of the gags, and these new sensations of smooth, wet tongue and hard teeth, warm lips, caused us both to gasp. He gripped my hips and lifted me off the seat and onto his lap, sharing the kiss hungrily, but momentarily. He reached out and picked up a warm, damp washcloth he'd set on the table and slid it between us and pressed it to my pussy. I leaned onto my hands and let him gently clean himself from my body. My head fell back and I rubbed against his hand and he laughed, kissing my throat and breasts when he was done.

When I opened my eyes, James was standing nearby, watching. Richard tightened his arms around me and placed his forehead on my shoulder and I curled my arms and legs around him and smiled at James serenely. He had a small cloth bag and a white dress shirt with blue petals all over it in his hand. He retrieved his drink and sat down on the couch in boxers and a tee shirt, long, hairy legs drawn up and crossed in front of him. He sat a magazine from the table on his ankles and unzipped the bag, pulling out about an ounce of marijuana and rolling papers and a small pair of scissors. He proceeded to cut up some of the grapefruit smelling herb into small bits, his strong fingers surprisingly dexterous, the fingertip pads flattened and callous from detailed work with hard surfaces. Richard cuddled in my arms like a child, never raising his head from my shoulder as James snipped away, but never loosening his hold on me. I ran my fingers through his short, wet hair, standing it on end and tickling his neck and ears with my lips and fingers as James rolled the bits into the square of paper, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the quick movements, and licked the joint closed.  
  
"Well, my lovely little bookends, come and get stoned with me. We shall laugh and become drunk and tell stories into the night!" James gestured with a sweeping arm to the couch beside him. I laughed and felt Richard shake his head. He extracted his arms from around me and put them on my ass and pushed up, helping me to stand. I winced as I felt the bruising from the cane for the first time, and when Richard suddenly leaned up and lapped at my pussy with his wide, flat, hot tongue, I slapped him reflexively. He flinched back, looking hurt, red bands forming below his left eye.  
  
"I'm sorry!" I cried immediately.  
  
"Do that again, Tara." James said quietly. I shook my head.  
  
"I didn't mean to—"  
  
"Hit him!" James nearly shouted. "Or I'll do it and I won't be as nice as you will be, guaranteed."  
  
I looked down at Richard. He squinted at me and I smacked my open palm against his cheek, then looked at James, but he just raised the joint to his lips and lit it, inhaling in small puffs. He cocked an eyebrow. I slapped Richard once more. He gasped and flinched when I lifted my hand again, so I put my left hand to his jaw and held him in place. I hit his cheek hard in succession until my palm stung and he was cringing in my hand, eyes closed, his hands clenched.  
  
"Enough. Richard, come here." James held out the joint and when Richard crawled to him on his hands and knees he put it to his lips. Inhaling, Richard pulled himself onto the couch next to James, the side of his face red. James was staring at him as he had been in the bar, as if he was living on Richard's every expression. I shifted nervously, very aware I was still naked. James finally drug his gaze away from his friend and held his hand out to me. I took it and Richard moved over so I could sit between them. James handed me the shirt he'd brought out.  
  
"You can sleep in this if you'd like." It was many sizes too big for me and smelled of him, like metal and soap. Richard passed me the joint and asked me what I'd been doing in the bar that night.  
  
"Besides watching the two of you?" James snorted and took the joint from me. "Writing." I worked for a food magazine, writing fiction stories with monthly themes, a delightfully easy job which allowed me a lot of freedom and time to do as I pleased. I wasn't rich, but I was able to travel and work from home most of the time. I found out they both wrote professionally as well, and James had funny stories to tell of getting fired here and there for taking subtle liberties with the information he delivered.  
  
Richard recovered quickly from his ordeals and talked animatedly, bouncing in his seat and waving his hands around as he talked. I found myself unexpectedly thankful for him. There was an ephemeral quality to him, a feeling he impressed that he might slip away without warning; like a radiant sunset, brilliant and bright, but with a darkness looming just behind the blossoming colours. I felt like I was a little girl again, listening to the adventure he was describing. I had the feeling he was one of the few truly good people in the world.

I tucked my knees into James' shirt and closed my eyes, letting my overwrought senses and abused flesh relax, listening to them and giggling, answering their questions when they prodded me, feeling heavy and sedate as the THC activated in my brain and sent soporific signals through my body. James stretched his legs out and I scooted down and put my head on his shoulder. I felt him move uncertainly, then he laid his large, warm hand softly on my leg. He began telling us of somewhere he'd always wanted to go, but I lost track of name and place and could only hear the unique timber of his voice, the silvery slow cadence that seemed to draw energy to him, instead of pushing it out as vibration. The droll tone he used left me constantly waiting for his next word and I laughed until I was in tears at the way he explained the world and the general absurdity of his fellow humans. Richard teased him gently and intimately, tickling me to get me to laugh when it suited his jesting. He drank his drink and mine when I declined it and James rolled another small joint I did participate in and I learned why Richard had called James 'Captain' earlier, and James defended his slow driving by insisting being stoned made him a more careful and cautious driver.  
  
"I can't drive when I'm high," Richard mused.  
  
"Yet you do all kinds of stupid and reckless things I don't. Perfect example."  
  
"She's an example of a lightweight," Richard said, poking at me. I was nearly asleep, smiling absently.  
  
"Have the big bed with her," James offered and I felt Richard grasp my wrists and he pulled me to my feet. I yawned and leaned on him as he led me to the small bedroom that was mostly bed, a king sized affair with slick sheets and a soft cover I slithered into happily. Richard pulled the blanket over my shoulder.

"Would you mind if I joined you soon?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, please. James?"  
  
"Oh, there's another bed. I think you make him a bit nervous, to be quite honest."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
He paused before answering, searching for the right words. "I think perhaps he does not want to scare you away."  
  
"He's not scary."  
  
"No? He's a peculiar chap, though, not always the best at expressing what he feels. Hides it."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
There was a flash of white teeth in the darkness as he smiled. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think you're a better man than you think you are."  
  
"Now that's an odd thing to say."  
  
"Is it? Maybe. You're happily married, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes," he said and I could hear in his voice he believed it. "You're the first woman I've touched since I've been married."  
  
"Richard," I said and relished his name on my smokey tongue. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. If you want to, I'll listen, but I think everything happens for a reason."  
  
"Well, I quite like that idea," Richard said and smiled once more, all white incisors. We were silent for a few seconds and I was drifting off to sleep. I heard Richard leave the room and the low vibration of his voice and James answering. I slipped into unconsciousness listening to their quiet conversation and the ocean humming in the distance, fragrant smoke drifting into the room.  
  
There was a hint of daylight in the sky when something woke me. I tried to remember where I was and who was slipping into the bed with me. It was his scent that brought the night back. A familiar dread filled me, the kind I felt in dreams when I found myself outrageously elevated in one way or another, the ground a mere smudge of colour far below. I didn't know what to do, what might send me plummeting, or why I was here in the first place. Leaving now would mean finding my own way down without the chance of someone making me fall. I would be in control and the outcome certain. But it was easy to stay, to let two men spend their time with me, to let myself be as beautiful as they wanted me to be, and to think it would only be their relationship that changed when they left, that they would go away and leave me no worse than experienced. And if it was fate and everything happened for a reason as I had said, there was no reason to run from what felt good. It was rare for me to feel comfortable with new people, but then I had never been naked, beaten and fucked so well so quickly before. And there was something owed to me come morning. I smiled as I remembered James' deal.  
  
I turned over so I could see Richard in the dim light. His eyes were closed, but after a few seconds they opened and he looked straight at me. I had the distinct impression he would have begged me to stay if I had tried to leave. He gathered me in his arms and pulled my head to his chest. I settled on my side against his body and felt like his twin in the soft womb of the bed. His touch was firm and there was no hesitation; he moved me where he wanted, turned his face slightly away from mine so he wasn't stealing my breath and his chest rose and fell under my cheek steadily and I noticed when he fell asleep a moment before I joined him.


	2. Chapter 2

  _I'm stealing the night_  
_From them, steal the night_  
_What they're down to_  
_Let's see in cold daylight_

 

 

His startled cry woke me and the bed was jolted as James pulled him to the floor by his hair. I sat up. Richard was on his knees and James had one hand gripping his short hair and the other covering his mouth, legs spread so Richard's naked body was trapped by them. He twisted, trying to see James' face, but James kept him pinned facing me. He looked dazed and in pain and utterly gorgeous in his discomfort.

  
"Good morning. Stay where you are, Tara," James said calmly. He sank to his knees behind Richard and pulled the other man against him, letting go of his hair to slide the hand across Richard's face to overlap the other across his mouth. He rubbed his cheek into Richard's hair as he leaned in close to him, breathing in deeply.  
  
"Can you see her?"  
  
Richard nodded.  
  
"Good," James said. "You need to concentrate on her, because if you try to pull my hands away, I'm going to hurt you very badly for every time you touch me. Do you understand that?"

Richard nodded again, his eyes on me. There was nothing for me to do but hold his gaze and stay with him through whatever was coming.  
  
There was a slight shift of James' hands and Richard tensed as his nose was covered. He let out a high pitched whine as he realised the game being played. His hands rose immediately, but I shook my head at him and he pressed them to his chest instead.  
  
Seconds turned into eons as I watched James slowly suffocate Richard over and over. As hard as I tried to keep him focused on me, after the third time James brought him to the edge of blacking out, Richard tried to pry James' fingers away from his nose. James laughed softly and used his body to force them forward so he had to put his hands on the floor to hold their weight up.  
  
"That's once," he said, and readjusted his grip. Richard fought him, pushing back, but James laughed again and bucked his hips into Richard's, keeping him off balance. Twice more Richard grabbed at James' hands and wrists and tried to breathe and James counted each time aloud. Without realising it I moved to the edge of the bed and I found myself reaching out to Richard as he clawed at James' fingers once more. James gave a pitiless smile when he saw me. He jerked Richard upright and maneuvered them closer to me.  
  
"Give her your hands, let her help you."  
  
Slowly, Richard raised his hands and placed them on the bed in front of me. His cheeks and James' fingers were wet with his tears and he whimpered when I took his wrists. The bed creaked as James pinned him against it. He loosened his hands for a moment and Richard drew a shuddering breath but James allowed him only half of it before clamping his palms over his mouth and nose. He pulled Richard's head back against his shoulder and I could see his throat working and his pulse beating wildly and I had to use all my body weight to keep his hands down. New tears sprouted from the corners of his dark eyes, but James' threat of worse pain was easier for me to remember than for him apparently, so I kept my hold on him.  
  
His struggling grew frantic. He almost managed to throw James off of him, and James counted that as five, but at last, as his thrashing weakened and his eyes rolled and fluttered closed for at least the tenth time, James released him and moved back. Richard would have crumpled to the floor but for my hands on his wrists. He hung weakly from the side of the bed, his head down and sides heaving as he gulped in air. He didn't react as James stood up behind him, obviously aroused, and swept from the room without a word. I couldn't keep from going to the floor, knee to knee with Richard. He flinched when he felt my hands on his face, but he let me lift it and I kissed his trembling lips. He leaned heavily into my hands. I didn't know if it was the appropriate thing to say but it was off my tongue before I could reconsider.

"You're so fucking sexy, Richard. I'm so turned on right now, I can't help it! You're beautiful and amazing." He raised an eyebrow at me doubtfully. "You are! Don't pull away. That's why James wants me to watch you—to see what he sees." I took his hand and put it between my legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there because of what he had gone through. He actually blushed, but slid his fingers deeper, seeking the source. I opened my thighs to him and reached for his half-hard cock.  
  
James would establish himself as a master of separating Richard and I. He scooped me up by my hair and the back of his shirt and dumped me on the bed, face down, lashing my ass cheeks with a bamboo switch.  
  
"I told you to stay, didn't I?" he demanded.  
  
"Yes! I'm sorry!" I cried, hiding my hands under my chest to keep from reaching to protect myself. James pinned me to the bed by my hair and the cane whipped across my skin, hard.

"Now, stay where you are," he said, releasing my hair. He left me there, ass in the air and face pressed to the bed where I could see him and Richard.  
  
"Get up." James pointed with the stick.  
  
"Yes, I'm sorry," Richard echoed me and pushed himself to his feet. James came towards him with the ball gag in hand. I saw Richard's eyes close for a moment, but as James lifted the black rubber to his mouth, Richard looked up into his eyes and opened it, his expression calm. James had him mute in seconds, and he backed an arms length away.  
  
"Take your left hand and cover your balls, and with your right, stretch your dick out. Good. Keep looking at me," James instructed. When Richard had his shaft stretched out, holding the head, James snapped the cane down on the tender flesh. Richard jumped and James' next stroke cracked across his hand.  
  
"No! Hold the fuck still. We're starting over." Richard slowly presented his cock again, his whole body shaking. There was a scarlet line across the top and James added two more to the pale, veined skin, and Richard swayed backwards when he closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
"Pull it up against your stomach."  
  
Richard whined loudly and threw his head back, tears flowing and James lashed at his hands again. He doubled over but James caught him by the gag strap and jerked him up.  
  
"Spread your legs and stand still."  
  
He tried to comply, but the first strike across the underside of his cock made his knees buckle and James half-carried him to the bed, tossing him down on his back next to me.  
  
"Twice more." James waited patiently for Richard to correct his grip. The blows came in quick succession and when Richard screamed I forgot my command and clapped my hands over my ears. He rolled onto his side away from me, curling protectively around himself.  
  
"Don't fancy his screaming?" James said as he reached over and smacked my hands away. "Would you take his place, then? Rather feel it than hear him? Should we do that instead, Richard? Five across her cunt, because you can't take any more?"  
  
"N-no! No, no, no," I stammered. Richard flipped onto his back and glared at James, but he shook his head and with trembling hands, exposed himself. James let out a low laugh.  
  
"We've found a new way to raise your tolerance to pain? Protecting her?" I realised then this had been James' plan all along. "I happen to enjoy the noises you make, you know that. She must suffer through it just a little while longer then, instead of supplying it herself. Give me what I want and it will be over quickly."  
  
Richard wretched and wailed behind his gag, his body convulsing and James paused with awful patience each time until he could land another blow on Richard's cock.

I finally cried, "James, stop, please! Don't hurt him anymore!"  
  
Richard's face was contorted in agony and he pitched his head, barely able to focus on me. James dropped the cane and Richard let out a sob at the sound. I felt James move behind me on the bed and the head of his cock slipped easily into my wet pussy. He used long, slow strokes to fuck me, slamming into me until I was simply bracing myself as he bottomed out. I wanted to orgasm badly after the night before and this brought me right to the edge, but I couldn't touch myself with my hands under my chest. I spread my legs, but it wasn't enough. James was perceptive though, always.  
  
"Touch her, Richard, like you were earlier."  
  
Richard's hand slipped under me and I gasped when his fingers slid over my swollen clit. James moved slowly, holding my hips still. I felt him shudder as Richard's fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and then he was focused on me, petting and squeezing. I came staring into his dark eyes, crying out as James held me so I was hanging from his shaft. He pulled me backwards with him until my face was level with Richard's hips. He was holding his semi-erect penis in his hand, stroking it gently. It looked bloody, but there was no broken skin, only burst vessels and raised red and purple welts. He flinched and moaned when my mouth slipped over the head and my tongue swirled down the shaft but he didn't move away.  
  
"See, princess? Don't worry about him, I could do much worse to him and he'd still be ready to fuck you."  
  
I could feel the damage with my tongue and tried not to press too hard, but when I felt Richard thrust into my mouth I sucked on him eagerly. I'd had his come in my pussy and now I wanted to taste it and I fought James when he pulled me away as Richard finally arched up off the bed. He came, holding himself up on his elbows and looking a little sickened as jets of come sprayed from his tight balls and carried tiny streaks of blood from the abused tube onto his stomach. James pushed me forward until my head was pressed to Richard's belly and I could smell his sweat and fear and come and when James came inside me he held himself on shaking arms to keep from crushing us. He dragged himself off me after a long moment and his come splashed onto Richard's legs. I stretched out, head on his chest and James moved next to me, lying behind me without touching me, but close enough I could feel his body heat and his rapid breathing.

Richard was in pain still. I could feel him undulating beneath me, twisting his hips and clenching his thigh muscles, breath coming between long pauses. I curled my arm around his chest and pressed myself against him, grateful he'd spared me. I was taken aback by my own line of thinking. Would I have even let James do something so brutal to me? Would I be able to bear it? Would I hate someone who would do such things, who wanted to?  
  
"Nnnnah," Richard moaned, and fresh sweat sprang out on his skin. James sat up and leaned over me, both hands reaching for Richard’s face, which he palmed anew, pushing him hard into the soft bed. Inadvertently, with James over me, I was pinning Richard's arms down. James cocked his leg over ours and we were both trapped under him.  
  
"You feel quite nice between us," James said to me, pushing all his weight down on Richard. "Wouldn't you like to have him like this, feel him panic inside you? Do you think you could take us both? Could you beg me with your body to have mercy on him? Would you want me to stop hurting him if it meant taking away your pleasure?"  
  
Words failed me and only a helpless noise rose in my throat, but I knew then I wanted to find out. Richard thrashed under me and James pushed him down harder.  
  
"Look at me. Look at me! Open your fucking eyes!"

Richard's legs kicked feebly and his back arched, but with the last bit of his air he whimpered, a desperate whine, his body vibrating now.

"That's it. Let go one more time for me. No, open. Look at me…" Richard went frighteningly still beneath me finally and James let out a slow breath, his body rocking mine. He moved after a long moment and Richard gasped. I heard the buckle of his gag being moved and James pulled me with him away from Richard. I went willingly.  
  
Naked, smeared with blood and semen, Richard lay taking quick, shallow breaths. The force of James' hands on him left the impression of the gag on his cheeks, giving him a joker's smile. He looked at me, at how James was gripping my arms and holding me against his chest, and slowly a real smile crept across his face. It was self-conscious partly but there was something else, a private pleasure at seeing James and I.  
  
"That's what I want," James said approvingly. "If you can stand, you can do as you please." James kept his hands on me as Richard gingerly got his feet, hissing as his abused flesh shifted, but he hurried away like a child, head down. James drew me back down to the bed with him, on my side, and he held me from behind.  
  
"Has any of this bothered you?" he asked.  
  
"Yes—well, no. I mean, some of it is supposed to, isn't it?"  
  
He chuckled. "Yes, it is. Have you done this before?"  
  
"Some… I've always liked bondage and being spanked. Tied up a few times." I shivered even though he was warm. "I've never been hit as hard as you hit me."  
  
He looked down at me. "And how do you feel about that?"  
  
I blushed as I answered, surprised for the last time at how much I truly wanted what was happening. "I loved it, to be honest. Richard said you might scare me away, but the thing that's been frightening to me is how easy this all has been, and how comfortable I am with you. Both of you. I feel like I've known Richard all my life already. And like…I've wanted to know you." I said the last sentence with no little shyness, but it was the truth. James looked at me for a moment longer, then lay his head back down. He didn't say anything in reply, but I found that comforting somehow. He just accepted what I said to him and had no reason to question me further. I heard the shower start in the bathroom.  
  
"James, what about his wife?"  
  
He sighed, pressing his fingertips into the skin of my chest in an odd rhythm. "He loves her very much, and his two daughters. But he is afraid she won't accept this side of him. He married her thinking he could control it, or deny it, but nothing worked."  
  
"Except you?"  
  
"Except what I can do to him," James corrected swiftly. I let him keep his distance.  
  
"Do you know her?"  
  
"I do. You're asking me how I can face her; if I lie to her? If that makes me a bad man? You just said you trust me, does that confuse things?"  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"Richard's a good bloke and my best mate for a long time now. He is good to his family and his friends and he's brilliant, and most no one knows he's completely mad sometimes. I don't know how or when it began, but I saw the lengths he would go to to deal with his feelings, and how alone he felt, how much he needed one person to understand him. I had to help him. This is the easiest way to keep him from…losing his mind. Hurting himself. It would've destroyed him, was on its way to. He can come to me now, instead of suffering alone and abusing himself in ways which leave more permanent damage. I hope, simply, his wife would prefer this over the alternatives. But it's not my place to tell her." He paused, letting me absorb his words. Then, "Do you still trust me?"  
  
"Yes. I told Richard last night I don't judge him for who he is. I don't think any of us know the "right" thing to do, but if we're doing what we do out of love, with our hearts, then it's not wrong."  
  
"What we do out of love…" he murmured into my hair. "Tara, can you stay with us for a while longer? Is that possible?"  
  
I thought about it not at all. "Of course. I need some of my things."  
  
"I'll take you to get whatever you need. If you want to get cleaned up, we'll go, and bring back breakfast?"  
  
I squirmed onto my back in his arms, a feeling bewildered. "How can you be so evil and so polite at the same time?"  
  
He barked a laugh. "I suppose it comes naturally, princess. Richard has helped me hone and use it for good, but you might find I'm generally not a nice person. Oh, I am to those I like, but that list is a short one. Go on now."


	3. Chapter 3

_And thoughts you thought  
you'd never tell  
I am not asking you to believe in me  
boy I think you're confused  
I'm not Persephone_

 

 

I didn't think to be nervous until we were at the door to my apartment on the other side of the bridge. Miami seemed almost deserted this early on a Sunday morning and it only took us fifteen minutes to cross town. I was still aroused by Richard's attentions but desire flowed easily for one man to the other, so seamlessly I didn't even notice the difference.

James' presence was thoroughly distracting, consuming, once I was in the car with him, even though it seemed he paid me little mind. So I studied him as I had Richard. He had not the refined features of the other man, but I found him beautiful still. He had a southern European look to him; a small mouth, almond shaped eyes and a long, fleshy nose, a slightly crooked, crowded mouthful of teeth which lent a wolfish appearance to his smiles. His skin was thicker than Richard's, and he was pale; I could see the veins around his eyes and on the backs of his hands, as though the sun were forbidden in his cloudy kingdom. He was humming as he drove, something I could not recognise but I was sure was classical and his large hands and nimble fingers tapped out the missing parts of the song as though he was at a piano instead of driving. He was heavier than Richard too, for his size, and I remembered his weight on me with a twist of lust. Not just taller but thicker, the makings of a beer gut just beginning to show. I found that appealing as well; he was solid and strong and obviously enjoyed himself and the finer things in life: food, drink and comfortable clothing. He had shiny black shoes on, worn jeans and another printed dress shirt, this one tan with reddish paisley print.

He didn't speak to me until we reached my building, though I gave him directions where to turn and which exits to take, and the first word he said to me when we arrived was, "Don't."

I jumped at the sharpness in his voice and pulled my hand back from the door handle to exit the car.

"I will open your doors from now on."

I nodded and lowered my gaze to my hands in my lap, finding him almost impossible to read. I realised he must have had a lot of practice keeping his emotions from showing.  
  
It was difficult to stop myself from reaching for the doors as I always had, though; I ended up stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket. I told him which floor to push for the elevator and shuffled my feet, waiting silently next to him. As the doors slid shut on us, he grabbed me without warning, one hand around my throat, high up under my jaw and he deftly squeezed and released pressure on a spot that made the blood pound in my face but did not block my air.  
  
"Hands where they are," he said as his own free hand raised my skirt and slipped under my panties.

"Wet little bitch," he approved and hooked two fingers inside me. He fucked me like that, the heel of his hand grinding my clit. I wanted to tell him to stop, that someone I might know could get on the elevator, but I could not. The pressure on my throat disoriented me, and I was not in my apartment complex any longer. I was only with James, and wherever he was, my place was with him, his hands on me, and any modesty I had disappeared under an embarrassing desire for another person to see this man using me.

I whimpered at the switch of feelings and James smiled finally but he didn't let go. I was spared as it was—my building was full of young professionals mostly, not people to be awake this early on a weekend. I squirmed as his knuckles pressed painfully into my pubic bone as if he was trying to force his whole hand into me. He relented only as the door dinged open on my level, withdrawing his fingers from my pussy and pressing them against my lips. He squeezed my throat and I held my mouth carefully open as he wiped his fingers on my tongue. He stepped aside, letting go of me.

"After you, my lady."

I wiggled my skirt back into place and, hands shaking, fished my keys out. They jammed into the slot as he smacked my ass. I bounced off the door and fell back, unprepared for the force of the blow.  
  
"What did I say?" He put a palm in the middle of my back and spanked me. I was too surprised to know the answer and that got my skirt pulled back up over my ass and his hand slammed into my cheeks in rapid succession. When I tried to push myself off the door, he grasped a handful of my cotton panties, and with a sharp jerk, ripped them off of me.  
  
"James!" I wailed, embarrassed again. The slaps on my ass stung with nothing between his hand and my flesh and I could only think to pull the keys out of the door and offer them to him. Immediately, he stopped and took the keys from my hand.

"Thank you," he said, and straightened my skirt, the material dragging over the welts his fingers had left. "This one?" He rattled the keys at me.  
  
"Yes," I whispered and stepped back.

My stomach dropped as he turned the handle and the door opened. How had I left my apartment? Was it messy, were there days old dishes in the sink? Socks and underwear and discarded clothes everywhere, had I had one of those weeks where I couldn't decide what to wear and had pulled almost everything from my closet and not put anything back? Had I taken the trash out? He stepped inside. I took a deep breath and followed him in. To my relief nothing was too out of place. There was a few things here and there: cups by the sink and shoes kicked in the middle of the small living room and a plant had withered and died in the window. That must have taken days, not just the night I was gone, however, and was probably from lack of sunlight instead of my neglect.

James stopped a few paces in and looked around and now I felt my face flush, wondering how he would see me.  
  
"I'll just be a minute," I mumbled and headed for my bedroom.  
  
"Take your time," he said and moved towards my bookshelf. I hurried down the hallway, but stopped short at my bedroom. The door was closed. I glanced behind me. James was staring at my books, tugging absently on a piece of his hair, paying me no attention. So it appeared, anyway. But I had the strong feeling he knew exactly what was going on around him—how else had he noticed me in the bar? I certainly had not seen him do so. I bit my lips together, hard.  
  
"James?"  
  
"Yes, princess?" he said without turning.  
  
"You… My door. It's closed."

He looked down at the ground, hiding his face and there was a brief tremor in his frame, but when he came down the hall to assist me, he was as unreadable as ever. He didn't follow me in or even look into the room, returning to the bookshelf instead.  
  
I gathered dresses and underthings and a few slips to sleep in, but my mind was repeating itself; let him open the doors, let him open the doors… I wanted it to become a habit, even in the short time I would be around him.

Once the bag was full and zipped, I couldn't have said what was in it. I moved to the bathroom, using my toe to push it all the way open, hoping he had meant only when a door was latched shut. No movement followed my actions so I gathered my few bits of makeup and brushes and scents and dumped them in a small handbag, taking a moment to apply some to my face and body before leaving the room. He was sitting on the couch when I came out, and patted the seat next to him.  
  
"I want to ask you a few questions, Tara," he said when I settled.  
  
"Is something wrong? Do you not want me—"  
  
"Shh. I'm asking you."

My teeth clicked together, biting off my uncertainties.  
  
"First, you are not allowed to answer with 'I don't know.' I won't believe it, for one thing, and I need to know the answers. And don't tell me what you think I want to hear, what you think might please me, because you will be wrong no matter what you say. I want to know the truth. Take as long as you want to answer, think about it as much as you want, I will wait. Understood?"

He had such a gentle voice, and as stony as he'd been the entire time since I'd met him, he was now warm and passionate. His eyes were wide and bright and searching my face, from my lips to my eyes to my throat, as if seeking my heart there. He shifted on the couch, holding his head up in his one hand and reached for my own with his other, holding my fingers gently. I nodded.  
  
"If you could do anything with your life, what would do?"  
  
I stared at him. He couldn't possibly have asked me a question that I was more unprepared for. He said he would wait though, that I could think, and though many flippant and superficial things popped into my mind immediately, I let them fall away and tried to collect myself. I had to look away from him as well, gazing out the window at the morning light and the brick that was the view outside. I had never minded the plain, obstructed view; I liked the solidness of the building, the warm colour of the bricks. I used it as my canvas now, letting my thoughts drift. What would make me feel the most accomplished? What could I do that would make my life seem important? What had I been looking for in my few real adult relationships? When had I felt most at peace? Ideas, fleeting moments, glimpses of other lives I coveted secretly, slowly surfaced. I blushed and ducked my head nervously.  
  
"No, don't be afraid. I will even tell you what I want out of life, if you'd like, so you don't feel exposed." He squeezed my fingers, twisting them so I would look back at him finally. I swallowed hard and forced the words out.  
  
"I would take care of someone. I want to do things for someone, to make life easier, for someone who does things I can't do."  
  
"What kind of things can't you do?"

I searched his face, but there was nothing mocking to it. I bit my lips nervously, my stomach twisting.  
  
"The truth, Tara."  
  
I couldn't help the tears that shot to my eyes. "I don't want to say! Why are you asking me this?"

Instead of answering me, he squeezed my fingers again, hard this time. I squeaked at the pain and tried to jerk back, but he caught me with his free hand by the hair and shook me a little. But his voice was calm and quiet.  
  
"Focus, princess. I swear I am not going to think you strange or weak—I can tell that's what you think about yourself and what you expect from me. Isn't it?" He held me in his tight grasp until I had stopped breathing so fast and only one small tear had made its way down my cheek. As I relaxed, he slowly loosened his hold, wiping at the wet trail. I took a deep breath before continuing.  
  
"I've always been nervous. Around new people, new places. It stops me from getting the jobs I want or going places, out with friends or… Do you know what I mean at all? I've always been told to "just" do this or that, but it's different with me I think than with…someone normal. What I have always wanted was to be protected. To have one person—a lover, a partner, you know? Who I trusted, who knows I am afraid and nervous almost constantly and who understands I can't do much about it." I looked at my lap, but told him anyway. "I've been to counseling…therapy. I've tried medications, even. Some of them helped, most don't though, and the ones that did had awful side effects which were worse than how I feel. So, I've always wanted… Fantasized…about having someone who knew this about me and didn't push me or make fun of me or get frustrated with me, because I know there are things I can do that would make that person's life better, instead of doing what's…expected. Normal," I repeated, my voice beginning to shake. "It sounds ridiculous, I know!"  
  
"No, it doesn't."  
  
I laughed, which came out more as a sob. "If I was with… You, maybe? For example. I would want to make your life easier, do the mundane things so that you had more free time, because…I know you can do so much that I cannot. Different things, you can probably do something new or go meet someone, and not have these panic attacks like I do. But I'm sure it wears you out, I know it has to! I know no one is impervious to being nervous or shy or…whatever it is. But you can obviously handle it better than I ever could. I just couldn't, I know that. I can not. But I would want… It would make me happy, if you can believe it, to do the routine things. Cook and clean and shop and be there for you…sexually, whatever you wanted. I know this all sounds like just being a housewife, but that's frowned upon now, isn't it? Also, I can't—" I stopped abruptly. His eyebrow raised and my fingers felt the pressure again.  
  
"I can't have babies. Which also seems to be a prerequisite for being a housewife. I don't want them anyway," I tried to speak quickly and looked away from him. What was wrong with me? He was just asking me to come and fuck him and his lover for a few days, not bear his children. But I still felt sick and small. "I don't. This world… It doesn't seem fair, but it doesn't seem fair to me to want to do the kinds of things that a wife…and mother…would do, without having them. It's hard for me to believe someone would be proud to be with me, this way. But it's what I want, and I feel I could be someone to be proud of, if given the chance. And the right environment. Someone who didn't expect me to… I don't know—" I put my hand over my mouth as the words escaped me and looked at him. "I'm sorry," I said between my fingers.

His smile surprised me. "That's fine, thank you for apologising. You do try hard to do what I ask, so I'm not disappointed at all."

I smiled back, though I hid it behind my hand until I found my train of thought again. "I would be happy having a garden, taking care of a house for…someone. If they understood how hard it was for me, I would try to make them proud of me however I could. I don't know why, but having someone's approval and protection, whom I trust, works better than any medication or therapy or anything."  
  
"Having someone who loves you and knows you are submissive gives you confidence."  
  
I blushed and had to stop for a moment. But he would understand, wouldn't he? More than anyone I would have a chance to tell this to, probably. "If I trust you, and you know I need protection and someone to turn to… I am not always sure what is going on in a situation, what people mean when they talk… But with you… I mean—" I made a frustrated noise and rubbed my face.  
  
"Just say it, Tara."  
  
"I do like being told what to do. I like knowing exactly what's expected of me. When I trust someone and respect them and know they are looking out for me, that they…love me, I guess, I would do anything for them. It overrides my fear and anxiety. I don't know why, but it does. It's happened just once. I met someone…like you. Dominant. He was kind to me, but there was something about his confidence, and the way he kept me close to him… He's the reason I have the job I do now. I couldn't have gotten it without him, and all he did was tell me what to wear and when to go, and no matter what happened, I had to say I wouldn't leave without the job." It seemed absurd to me now, and alien almost, that I had been so confident, and it had gotten me the job when I had almost no experience. "I know he didn't get me the job, I know I got it, but he gave me enough direction to get there. And the whole time going there, when normally I would feel sick and nearly frozen…instead I thought only about pleasing him, about doing what he had commanded me to do. I had to. And it worked."  
  
"But you're not with him now?" James said softly.  
  
"No. No, he left. A year ago?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know. Really. He didn't give me a reason. I think he didn't mean for me to need him so much, he didn't expect me to be this way."  
  
"What did you do then?"  
  
I hesitated. "I don't want to talk about him— _ah_!" I shrieked when James pulled my hand to his mouth and bit down on my finger with a sharp canine. I struggled again to pull away from him, but he grabbed my other wrist and twisted my arms so I had to go to the floor on my knees. The pain was so sharp and unexpected I was suddenly angry. I arched my hands to claw him if he brought his face near them, but the force he squeezed down on my wrists with made my muscles unresponsive and I glared up at him, hands useless now.  
  
"You said you would answer me. Fucking do it then. Why would you keep something from me? What does it matter, anyway? Tell me what I want to know."  
  
"I didn't do anything!" I cried.

He moved and I felt his foot press into my crotch and begin to push as he pulled on my arms. His expression never changed: that even, politely interested look in his eyes, but I saw his jaw tighten and knew he was not going to stop until he heard the truth.

"I didn't do anything, but I wanted to. I wanted to kill myself," I managed to get out before he pulled me in two, and the tension ceased, but he didn't release me. He waited.  
  
"I wanted to die. I knew no one else would ever understand me like he did. I didn't even tell him what I'm telling you! He just…did it! He was acting naturally, he commanded me to do something and I did it, and it worked, and it worked without all the fear and pain I've had to deal with anytime I've tried to be normal, tried to do something that everybody fucking else can do. I am never going to have that again. What are the chances? No one will help me that way, I can't make someone act like that with me, can I? It's natural, or it isn't. And who wants someone they have tell what to do, anyway? I'm like a stupid child. You—" I had to hide my face with my arm, turning away from him. "You are going to leave, too. You live in another country, and you have Richard, and I shouldn't be doing this to myself! But I want it, even though I know I'm going to be hurt. Alone, again. It's terrible, feeling this way… Needing this. It seems so foolish sometimes. I try to hide this part of me, like you said Richard does. I know how he feels. We can't help this. But at least I have my little life here, and my job, which is perfect for me because I don't have to see many people and I know exactly what they want from me and it forces me to think about everything but myself for long periods of time. It's easy to watch what others do and write about it, even if I can't make myself do it."

I felt sick. I hated him for prying this out of me. I had wanted to seem strong and whole to him, I felt like I could have held myself together for the short time he was here and he'd never have to see the wreck he would inevitably leave behind. Not now. I was weak and trembling and I drooped in his grasp, letting him hold me up, not caring if he let go. But far from it, he removed his foot and dragged me up into his lap. The warmth of his body and the sound of his heart through his chest broke down the last of my strength and I wept, silently, tears soaking his shirt. I knew I didn't hate him, this was not his fault, he couldn't have known what I was going to say, he had only asked for the truth and I had promised to tell it. I hated myself because what I wanted, what I was telling him and asking from life, seemed so simple to me, but it never was to others. It was never going to happen at all. Now it was as if James, Richard, my breakdown in this moment, was something telling me I was would be better off never again letting this side of me see the light of day. Losing this once had been devastating but perhaps I had imagined I had learned something and I could control myself enough to enjoy it again, but this was proof I was wrong.  
  
James said nothing while I ran out of tears, holding me without moving, his breathing calm and steady, and when I finally tried to sit up to wipe my face, he helped me upright and stood before I could, going to the bathroom and bringing back tissue. I slouched, miserable, avoiding his gaze for a long time, my mind completely blank, exhausted.  
  
"Tara?" he said when I leaned back against the couch at last and stared back through window at the comforting red bricks.  
  
"Yes, James?" I could barely whisper a reply.  
  
"Do you want me to leave you here? You don't have to come back with me if you don't want to. Wait. Before you answer; look at me."

I turned my head to the side so I could see him, but it took all my effort.

"I don't think you're weak, or a child. Or foolish. Anymore than I feel those things about Richard. Do you think I take how he feels lightly, that he's a joke or immature, that his feelings and needs aren't valid?"  
  
"No. I think you really care about him."  
  
"You're right, I do. And I believe I understand what you're telling me. I might not completely, some things take time to sink in, don't they?"

I shrugged.

"I don't want to hurt you like this, make you suffer by teasing you with something and then taking it away from you. But you're a grown woman, and if you want to stay with us like I've offered, you are welcome. I don't want you to think we are using you. I hope you trust me and believe we both want to leave you the same, or in even better condition than we found you. But if you don't think that's possible, if you think this will crush you somehow, say so now. I won't be mad. Disappointed, because I think you're lovely and interesting and I would like to give you the kinds of pleasure you seem to crave, but only if you're going to treasure this experience. You have already carved out a very fine place in my mind and I will think of what happened last night and this morning for the rest of my life."

He stood up and before I could do anything, straddled me and grabbed me by the hair with both hands and lifted my face to his. He kept his weight off of me, but just barely, and within a few moments I was having to breathe hard to fill my lungs. But he had my attention.  
  
"Your feelings are valid, and I think I can understand how hard it is for you, compared to…someone normal, like you say. The kinds of people who fill clubs, right? That seem free and confident and travel in groups?"

I nodded in his grip, watching his lips move as he spoke.

"There's nothing flawed about you, you are just unique. You're more delicate than most, but you shouldn't be ashamed of it or think you're stupid for not being part of a herd," he said the word disdainfully. "What you seem to think is normal, I myself often view as weak group mentality. People who are only seemingly free because everyone else is doing the exact same thing. I think what you feel and want is beautiful, and comes from your heart. It's not some glamorous image of a lifestyle. You described something which is actually attainable. You would be proud to have this define you, would you? You're really not ashamed of who you are, deep down. You just have a few stumbling blocks that make it difficult for you to connect to people."

His words were making my heart race and tears began flowing again of their own volition.  
  
"Princess, I told you I would reciprocate. Would you like to hear what I want?"

I nodded and then gasped when his fingers tightened in my hair and he brought his face inches from mine.

"I want you."  
  
He didn't let go when I bucked underneath him and cried out. He held on, his legs pinning my body, my head held firmly as I tried to shake free.

"Stop it! Fucking stop. I'm serious. I'm not playing with you, and I want you to believe me so badly. Tara, please. Stop!" He shouted at me as I tried to push him away. He used his elbows to force my arms back and pressed his weight into me so I couldn't breathe at all and I had to still myself before he would give me air.

"Shh, sweet girl, please listen. I will prove it to you if you let me. I will make arrangements for you to come to me when I leave here. You will have tickets in your hands to follow me. I have little more than a week and some here and you probably will need more time than that say your goodbyes, and I will speak to you every day if it will ease your fear. You don't have to stay if you don't like me after a while, just give me some time, you can decide how much, too. I would love to give you what you want, the things you just told me you wish for. A life of structure. I want to protect you, I want to be the person you trust. I will do my utmost to never let you down, never lie to you. You said it yourself. You used me as an example of what you want. I could be more than an example. I could be that man for you, if you'll let me. Will you at least give me the chance? To see if you feel with me the way you felt once before? Find out if I can give you the confidence he did? I think I know what you mean; what you need, and what you want, and they are not always the same things. Or, I can leave you here right now and we will never know if I'm right. Please, Tara?"

I whimpered when he released my hair and then he stood and backed away the few steps to the window, blotting out the red gleam, waiting silently for my answer.  
  
I sat up, having wiggled down trying to escape his touch, his words, the feelings they brought to a boil in my body. I tried to straighten my clothes and hair, and found I didn't care, nor had I the strength. Instead, I put my face in my hands and let my mind go blank. It was the only way I knew to keep the panic from taking control of me. It was sinking into a black pool, and when I finally decided to surface, the thoughts and feelings that remained were the ones I could trust. This time, what was left bobbing gently in the wake of that overwhelming fear I had felt when he had said he'd wanted me, was the image of myself kneeling before him, on the floor next to Richard's bound form. The total submission Richard offered to James, the compliance and allegiance to him had been evident from the moment I had laid eyes on them, I remembered. Richard trusted this man absolutely. I was not afraid James couldn't dominate me, direct me, own me, like I desired. I knew he could, it was obvious this was natural to him. I wasn't afraid of him mistreating me, either. Though I didn't have the past with him he apparently had with Richard, I couldn't even entertain the idea he would go out of his way to hurt me, use me and then toss me aside. What he was offering would cost him money, time and emotional investment that he wouldn't just throw away.  
  
What I was afraid of, I realised then, was that I would fail to be able to do the things I had just told him I wanted more than anything. I pulled my hands away from my face, blinking at the brightness of trying to look up at him in front of the window, but my eyes were tired and blurry from crying. I closed them and put my hand out. His warm fingers twined with mine immediately and I brought them to my face, pressing them to my cheek. The more my heart slowed towards its normal patter, the calmer my breathing became—and his nearness to me was so soothing, I admitted—the better I remembered my thoughts from the night before, at his feet. The strength I had found in myself. I had written it off without examination, as based in lust, because I had not wanted to think about or admit to myself that he, a stranger, had so easily made me feel complete. Alive. Like a whole person for the first time in so long. I had been trying valiantly to protect myself and it might have worked. But he had destroyed that illusion, and there was no denying I wanted what he was offering. Not just the offer. I wanted him. I turned my head and put my lips to his fingers.

"Please take me with you," I whispered against them.  
  
I didn't know what I expected him to do, but when he let go of my hand abruptly and walked away from me, my heart sank. Maybe I had taken too long to answer, shown too much doubt by my inaction. I sat, bewildered, looking after him as he went down the hallway and disappeared from sight. I assumed he had gone to the bathroom, but I heard familiar shuffling and realised he was in my room. I rubbed the last of the tears away and tried to gather myself as best I could, preparing for him to say he'd changed his mind. When he reappeared a couple of minutes later, I forgot about that idea and tried to figure out what he had, something black balled up in one fist.  
  
"Stand up," he said.  
  
I obeyed, confused.  
  
"Take your jacket off."  
  
I pulled the zipper down and shrugged out of it and then I found out what was in his hand; a pair of nylon stockings he must have fished out of my closet. He quickly tied the end of one around my left wrist, and then knotted it around the right, tying them palms together securely. He retrieved my jacket and settled it over my shoulders and zipped it back up partially, hiding my hands beneath. He brought the smaller of the two bags I had packed to me and slid the handles beneath the jacket so I could grab it. He had another stocking, but he tucked it into his pocket and picked up the remaining bag. His hand went to my neck and he silently directed me out of my apartment. He had the keys still and locked the door behind him. I hid the smile that surfaced when I noticed my torn panties lying in the hallway, and some of the unease and hurt I was still feeling in the pit of my stomach slipped away.

He didn't speak to me in the elevator, he simply looked at me. Eventually, I found myself looking down at his shoes; his gaze, much like I had assumed at the bar, disconcerting and overwhelming. The neutrality in his eyes which bordered on indifference made me feel small and insecure, and trying to work out a way to bring warmth back to them put my mind where it had been the night before. How could I please him? Outside, he put the bags in the trunk and held my elbow as I sank into the car awkwardly. With my hands beneath my coat I couldn't belt myself in either, but he already had a plan for that, disconnecting the shoulder strap first and then pulling the lap belt across me and connecting it. He leaned over me and flipped the lever which reclined my seat and my view was narrowed to the ceiling of the car.  
  
"Ankles together."  
  
My feet were tied securely together with the other stocking. He pushed my knees apart and shoved my skirt up to my hips, ignoring my shy complaint. In the drivers seat, he took the time to touch and fiddle with the instruments as I'd seen him do the previous night before he started the car and pulled away. When he rounded the first corner I moved my legs to keep my balance and received a slap to my thigh.

"Keep your knees open!"

I strained to hold myself still in that awkward position and was just getting the hang of balancing when I felt his hand between my thighs. I sighed in pleasure when his fingers pushed open my pussy lips and slid inside of me, two of them at first, then a third spread me wide.  
  
"People can see in here, you know," he said, using his thumb now and pinching my clitoris tightly, pulling on it and rolling it. He glanced down at my face when I didn't answer. He tweaked it again, hard.  
  
"I don't care!"  
  
He laughed at me and I bit my lips, embarrassed by that instead.

"Am I… Should I? Do you want me to?"  
  
"No. Well, you can feel however you like. What I want is to play with your cunt while I drive."

Within a few miles, nearing the bridge back to the beach house, I was soaking his fingers. I felt it sliding over my bottom and making the seat slippery and his fingers had webs of stickiness between them when he had to pull his hand back to steer a few times. He didn't bother wiping it away and let it smear along the wheel. He wasn't attempting to make me come, merely playing in my body, fingers fucking me and his knuckles twisting my swollen flesh. I barely noticed that the car stopped until he withdrew his hand finally and popped his seat belt. Turning, he thrust his fingers into my mouth.

"Clean it off, I have to go into the store."

Eagerly, I lapped at my juices, sliding my tongue between his fingers and along his nails to get every bit I could. Satisfied, he tugged my skirt down over my thighs and got out of the car. I closed my eyes when the door slammed shut, trapping me alone. I didn't know where we were or how close we were to any other cars, and without him with me the possibility of someone looking in the car and seeing me lying like this, with my knees open and my skirt barely concealing my pantyless, wet cunt, humiliated me. Through my closed lids, I could see shadows of people walking near the windows a few times and I squirmed, wanting to hide but not knowing if one of them would be James returning, so I held my exposed position. It seemed an eternity until the car rattled and when I opened my eyes he was setting a bag on the floor behind his seat. He had a fountain cup in his hand, which he put in the space between our seats. Then his hand was back, molesting me, and he took to slapping my cunt at stoplights, when he could turn his head and take careful aim. I kept my knees apart as commanded, even when he took an ice cube from the cup he'd brought and poked it inside of me. I shivered and squirmed, wanting to force it out but his hand covered me tightly and I had to endure the painful melting process, which further soaked the car seat. Another was inserted, and more when it melted, and I was crying at the sensation of frozen skin by the time I heard the familiar crunch of gravel at the beach house. He elicited one last scream from me when, using both hands now that the car was stopped, he pushed my legs up to my chest and I felt the ice biting the entrance to my ass, but I couldn't stop him from forcing it into me. I thrashed as it slid inside and when he spanked the backs of my thighs, hard. When I begged him to stop, he added another piece of ice. More were popped into my pussy, and more slaps delivered, until I stopped begging, stopped moving and willed my body to relax. Holding my legs up with one hand, he scooped a handful of ice and rubbed it over my cunt. His fingers jammed more of the coldness into me, and his thumb slid into my ass so his palm held the last of the sharp frozen pieces on my skin until I was sure it was burning me instead of being cold. Moving his hand slowly at first, then with more force and faster, he fucked my numb holes, stopping only when he saw I was warming back up and enjoying the feeling, and seemingly to make sure I didn't take any more pleasure from him, he slapped at my exposed thighs and cunt again.

He let my legs drop and exited the car, and it was Richard who opened my door and helped me sit up. I learned then there was no need for either of us to try to ignore the punishment or trials of the other and that often looking was the only pleasure we were going to get to experience from one another. This time his hand darted down between my legs as he feigned untying my hands, skimming across the wet, slick mess there and he smiled at me devilishly as I tried to catch my breath, still shivering slightly.  
  
"Are you hurt?" he whispered, wet fingers finally pulling at the knots on my wrists.

I shook my head.

"You can walk?"  
  
"Yes. Richard—" I wanted to tell him what James had said to me at my apartment.  
  
"Don't talk, he's right here. Thank you for coming back."

He pulled the nylon away from my ankles and helped me out of the car, watching my legs as the last of the melted ice poured from me and down my legs. I flushed in embarrassment, but he gave me that smile again and I had to smile back. James was leaning against the side of the car, and handed Richard a towel. I stood there, not knowing what else to do, dripping water and pussy juice down my legs while Richard daubed up the water from my seat. He made to climb out of the car when James stopped him, saying, "The steering wheel, too. No, give her the towel. Use your mouth."

Richard took a deep breath as he handed me the wet material and leaned over into the drivers seat on all fours. He examined the wheel carefully, finally seeing the smears of white on the black wheel left by James' fingers covered in my come. His tongue came out first, tentatively flicking at the stuff, but he quickly resorted to wrapping his mouth around the wheel, sucking and working his tongue hard over the textured surface. James moved closer to me so he could watch through the windshield. It took several minutes, but finally there was no more traces left of the ride home, and Richard looked up at James for permission to exit the car.  
  
"Get the bags in the back," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and steering me towards the house, leaving Richard to follow. I needed to pee, and said so. James ignored me and pushed me into the kitchen. He pulled one of the wooden dining chairs into the centre of the floor and after opening several cabinets to find it, set a large plastic bowl on the floor next to the chair.  
  
"Get on your knees, girl," he said, motioning to the chair.  
  
"I really need—"  
  
Surprisingly fast, he reached out and grabbed my jaw in one hand and my lips with his other, pinching my mouth closed. I tried to jerk away but his hands were stronger than I had imagined, and I made a note to myself right then to remember getting out of his grip would always be a futile endeavor. I whined instead as he drug me by my bottom lip to the chair, dropping to my knees before he had to tell me again.  
  
"Lean across it. Spread your legs." When I did, he pushed the bowl between them, scooting them together so they were holding the bowl firmly, and stepped back. "Now you may go," he said.  
  
There was no way I was going to be able to urinate in this position. It had never felt so awkward even without having an audience, as Richard entered the house as well just then, moving behind us to set the bags down. I couldn't see him after that, and didn't hear him move, so I knew he was watching me from behind. James said nothing, and waited. After a long couple of minutes, I heard him move away. When he returned, it was to pull my skirt high up onto my hips. My panties were long gone—lying in the hallway of my apartment—so there was nothing between my skin and the bamboo switch James lashed down on me, swatting me three times.

"I'm going to keep doing it until you go," came the warning.

I was caned a dozen more times every couple of minutes over the course of ten until I managed to piss into the bowl in that uncomfortable position. As I finally forced my muscles to cooperate, the mounting force with which he was hitting me very motivating, I realised I was going to cover myself in urine. I heard splashes hit the floor first, missing the bowl completely, but as the stream gathered strength, it sprayed out onto both of my thighs and ran down them, mostly into the bowl, but I felt some of it trickle down to my knees and pool on the floor there. There was more than I had guessed and it was several seconds before the pressure stopped and, humiliated and dirty, I turned my head to find James, hoping he would let me clean myself up now. But when he spoke, I cringed.  
  
"Clean her like you did the steering wheel."  
  
"No!" I squeaked. He wouldn't make Richard do something so disgusting, would he? But I heard Richard's light footsteps come near to me and the thud of his knees going to the wooden floor. He gently tugged the bowl away from me, pushing it to the side, and then his tongue was on my right leg near my knee, lapping at the trails of piss on my skin. I closed my eyes tightly, feeling miserable and ashamed that he had to do this because of me. But I couldn't fight the pleasure his touch stirred in me. He kept his hands on the floor, and when his head nudged between my legs so he could lick the insides, I spread them willingly. He moved to the other leg, from the bottom up as well, and then there was nowhere left on me wet except my wide open pussy. I moaned when his tongue pressed hard into my slit, snaking around and pulling all the moisture into his mouth. He sucked hard when he realised I was enjoying it and I knew he could taste my arousal now that he had lapped up all the piss, but I tried to keep still so James wouldn't stop him. Richard licked along the creases of my thighs and up around my asshole and then back down to my cunt, his long tongue swirling around my clit and he concentrated there, trying to make me come.  
  
"Don't forget the floor."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of James' voice. He was standing close to us, cane still in hand, his lips parted and wet. I tried to plead with him, moaning loudly now, hoping he would relent and let Richard give me an orgasm. Instead, still looking at me, he lifted his foot and shoved Richard in the ribs away from me. Richard gasped and tumbled onto his side, but quickly scrambled up and put his face to the floor near my knees, dragging his talented tongue across the boards now, sucking at the pools of cold piss there. James gestured and I pushed myself up, breathing hard, so aroused, and carefully moved away from the wetness on the floor so Richard could get all of it. He moved on his hands and knees before us, his ass in the air and his back bent sharply as he went from puddle to puddle until the floor was shiny and free of my mess. My knees were still damp where the piss had run underneath them, and Richard ran his tongue over them as well and finally every last drop was gone. He put his hands on his knees and lowered his head and I noticed then the outline of his hard cock in his jeans. His tongue darted out and licked at the corners of his mouth and he sucked on his bottom lip.  
  
"Put your tongue out."  
  
Richard looked up in alarm when James growled at him, and even I could hear the cruelty in his voice. Slowly, Richard stuck his tongue out. He made a frightened noise when James reached down and put a hand across his eyes, pushing his head back so his face was to the ceiling. Taking careful aim, James snapped the cane down across the exposed muscle. Richard didn't move except to clench his fists in his lap, so James did it again, harder. He took his hand away and the other man's eyes opened wide, flinching but not closing when the cane came down once more. I was not sure what changed, what was now different about James, but something made me take a step back, wanting to get away from him. He slapped the cane across Richard's tongue several more times and then abruptly spit into his mouth. Richard coughed and swallowed reflexively, finally looking up. He kept his mouth open, which I found very brave, but he was breathing rapidly, and I knew he was afraid of him, too. He flinched when James grabbed his face like he had mine earlier, catching his jaw and lips in both hands. He was forced down by his face and I winced when his skull hit the floor. I could tell he was trying not to fight back, but James was really hurting him, kneeling on his left arm and on his chest. He caught Richard's wrist as his free hand came up to push him away and he twisted it down and moved his leg, pushing Richard's head away, nearly across the smaller man's throat. James tore at Richard's jeans, pulling them open and grabbing the crotch, jerking them down hard. He must have caught more than the material because Richard screamed and tried to bring his knees up to protect himself, but James won the battle and quickly stripped the pants down to Richard's thighs. He shouted again when James caught his balls in his hand and gave them a hard pull and then twisted them. He bucked up, almost unseating James, but he was slammed back down by a knee in his ribs. He didn't stop fighting though and I watched them, my hands over my mouth to keep from protesting. Richard's cock was still bruised purple and red and James made him scream several times by flicking his long fingers against it, squeezing it and pulling it taut, stretching it out. He smacked his palm on the head of it, too, and when Richard wailed he did the same to his balls, twisting them fully around twice and slapping them in quick succession.  
  
"Stop! Please!" Richard bawled, clawing at James' arm to keep him from slapping down any more. James kicked at him instead, forcing Richard to put his arms around his head to protect himself.

  
"Tara," James said, and when he looked up at me, I shook my head frantically. "Yes, come here!" He punctuated the command by hitting Richard, without aiming, his hand coming down on Richard's cock where it was lying against his thigh and Richard yelled.  
  
"Make it stop. You started this, you know what he was trying to do without asking permission. This is your fault!"

There was another slap and Richard's balls were darkening in James' tight fist. He moved his knee off the other man's chest and, reaching under Richard's thigh to grab the base of his cock and balls, he flipped his small captive onto his belly by his genitals and one arm. He shoved him roughly onto his knees, but Richard couldn't hold himself on his elbows or hands and simply lay, crying, face pressed to the floor. I took a step towards them.  
  
"Get the cane."

Reluctantly, I picked up the thin stick from where James had dropped it and moved next to them. James shoved Richard's legs wide apart, ignoring the whimpering coming from him.

"Right here," he pointed to the same spot he had emptied his balls onto the night before, the soft skin high on Richard's scrotum. "You get one try to do it right, or I'm going to do this all night. I will tie him down and make him scream until he can't anymore."  
  
Trembling started in my body and Richard didn't help, moaning, "Oh, god, oh god oh god," pitifully.

"Do it, and I'll just fuck him right now instead of torturing him. But I want that scream. Make him give it to me."

When I hesitated, James cocked his head at me.

"He would do it to you," he said, his voice cruel and mocking. "He would, he would hit you as hard as he could to keep you safe from me, but I don't think you believe me. Wouldn't you, you disobedient little cunt?" He reached under Richard and twisted his testicles and his body convulsed, trying to squirm away involuntarily, but his litany ceased and he moaned, "Yes… Tara," he whimpered again as James nearly lifted him up with his grip down there, forcing his legs back open. "Please!"  
  
I raised the cane. I'd never struck anyone like this before, but I didn't want this to go on. Richard had been so sweet to me. James was a mountain I had to climb, a dangerous one I was beginning to realise, but Richard was my anchor, I needed him to help me understand what was in store, what I was getting into, and I was afraid if I didn't stop this, James was going to keep him from me, was going to keep him in pain and under punishment and torture, unless I did everything he asked me to. Richard cringed when he felt me lay the cane across him as I tried to take aim, but he held his position. I drew back and struck him, and though I had hoped maybe he would help convince James I had hit him hard enough, I knew the cry he made was genuine.

James stood up swiftly and Richard collapsed on the floor, curling into a ball and I was horrified when his body heaved as if he was going to puke. James ignored him, but I was too stunned to look away and it was only James' hand shoving between my legs that made me turn from Richard's agony. I was soaking wet, my pussy literally dripping, and James scooped the excess into his palm, his other hand opening his pants. He fell on Richard like a predator on downed prey, using my come as lubricant, smearing it over his cock before shoving himself into Richard, with none of the gentleness of the night before. James wrapped his sticky hand around his throat so the only noises that came from him as he was fucked mercilessly were huge gasping breaths. Soon they were both grunting in unison, and it didn't take James more than a few minutes to have his fill of the now pliant and panting man beneath him. His hands gripped Richard's hips and held him tightly while he arched up like a snake, his own frame shuddering for several seconds, all his weight bearing down on Richard's body. Slowly, he lowered himself, resting on his elbows, his head down on the other man's for a few seconds before he got to his feet. He readjusted his pants, watching the form on the floor. The only movement there was from the small gasps and sobs, and finally James looked at me.  
  
"Leave him there. Go put breakfast together for us, but he eats off the floor," he said evenly.

I opened my mouth, but closed it quickly when his expression darkened, and nodded instead.

"Good girl."  
  
I was shaking, I couldn't control it, as I arranged the bits of food James had picked out for us onto plates; croissants, soft brie, cherry tomatoes, thick slices of sweet smelling ham, and vivid purple grapes. I heard water running in the bathroom where James was, so after I ferried the plates to the table, I knelt by Richard. who hadn't moved, and gently touched his hair. He sighed and pushed against my hand like a cat getting pet and rolled onto his back after a moment. He shifted around slowly, pulling his jeans back up over his hips, wincing as he did, but he made no move to get up.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

He looked at me for a long time before answering. "You'll get used to it."  
  
"What… Why do you say that?"  
  
He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his chest tightly, as if cold. "You're coming home with us, aren't you?"  
  
"How did you know? Did he tell you he was going to ask me?"  
  
"Not at all. You don't know him the same as I do." He smiled and chuckled silently. "I saw it on his face when he told me to get you out of the car."  
  
"What did you see?"  
  
He peeked an eye open at me. "Oh, I don't think he'd like me to give him away anymore than I already have, do you?" His hand came up and he pulled my head down to his and kissed my lips. "Thank you for stopping him. I didn't expect him to be like that. It's hard when I'm not prepared. He knows it, too. I love the colour of your hair," he said. "Almost red, isn't it? But so dark. I did think it brown at first, but I can see the auburn in it now. It looked so soft in the bar last night. I wanted to put my hands in it very badly, you know."  
  
"I would have let you."  
  
"Ah, but he wouldn't 'ave."  
  
I could see the damage to the flesh between his legs and I shuddered in sympathy at the bruising and the way the colours had darkened and the welts had swelled. James had only tapped the canes against my skin by comparison and I doubted I even had many marks to show for it. He was well muscled; wide shoulders and strong arms, hard, flat stomach; narrow hips, the muscles in his thighs tense from and I was sure if I asked that he rode a bicycle often, and hard. He closed his eyes and hugged himself again. I wanted to ask him a million questions, about James and what life was going to be like in their country, and if I was infringing on their relationship. Instead, I brushed his hair back from his forehead and let him rest. I needed him to be strong. If he broke down, if something happened now I was part of this and he left me with James, I wasn't sure I could move forward. Richard was my role model now, my mentor, even if he didn't realise it himself, if I never told him so; without him, this would not have been possible for me. I would never have let James get close to me, though I couldn't even imagine it would have happened otherwise. I knew he was strong, and though it appeared he had no problems with my sudden involvement and I certainly didn't think I was going to take James away from him or that I was any sort of threat to him at all, there was no way of knowing for sure. I knew I needed him, though.  
  
"Am I going to have to chain you two on opposite sides of the house every time I leave the room?"  
  
"Fuck," Richard said, without opening his eyes.

James was standing at the edge of the living room, having left the shower running. I had planned to use that as my cue to get up and seat myself at the table, but I could tell by the smug little smile he wore, he knew I wouldn't leave Richard lying alone. I surprised myself, however. James was going to do whatever he wanted to us, I realised, whether I was apologetic or not. And I wasn't sorry, not in the least. I kept my hands on Richard and tilted my chin defiantly up at James.  
  
"Get away from him," he said.  
  
"No. I want to be right here."  
  
James crouched down and studied me. I felt Richard hold his breath when James shifted. I continued to pet him lightly, playing with his soft brown hair, finding strands which were sun bleached golden when I looked away from James as if I was unconcerned he was there. I was very concerned.  
  
"So the princess has a stubborn side. Fine then. Richard, get up. I left the water on for you, god knows you always need a shower. Are you sleeping? Get up!"

I wanted to grab him when he moved, hold him and keep him from leaving me, to not be alone in my opposition. Perhaps he knew better than I not to defy James, though, and he rolled away from me and out of my reach.  
  
"Now he's gone. What happens next, hm? Have you decided to fight me? Do you need me to get angry at you as well? I intended to treat you like the princess I've been calling you, but if you're going to defy me, I do not think you'll like my reaction. I'm not a patient person. I want things to be easy and if there is one place in life I get my way, it is here. With him. And with you, now. Come over here," he pointed to the floor in front of him.

"On your hands and knees," he said when I began to stand.

I hesitated. What would I feel if I walked to him and stood over him as he squatted in front of me? He had made me do things I had not ever thought of doing; made me hurt Richard, be dominant with him. How far was he going to push me? Had he ever felt these sort of things? What it was like to be dominated and in pain; did he think it was easy? Would he be so cruel as to always keep me from Richard, to forbid us finding comfort in each other? It had taken every ounce of my will to hit Richard with the cane, and it had been hard to slap him the night before. Perhaps the buzz of alcohol had made playing with him in the car after we'd left the bar easier, but I would not have done it without James telling me to. Almost in the same position he was in, I contemplating standing over him. And I knew I couldn't do it. I placed my palms flat on the floor, lowered my head, and crawled to him, and when I reached him I was startled when he grabbed my arms, sat down fully, and pulled me into his lap.

"Princess, I know I frightened you. You have a such a sweet heart, I can tell already. I know you were making sure the brat was alright, you probably even apologised to him. Didn't you?"

I said nothing and he snorted a laugh. "Of course you did, that's alright. Look at me, please." He had that earnest look to him he'd had in my apartment before he'd told me he wanted me to come to England, that he wanted me, so what he said next made me feel terrible and I lost all sense of rebelliousness. "Tara, do you desire him more than me?"  
  
"Oh! No, James, that's not it—"  
  
"That's all I need to hear. And I am glad, for your sake, because you can't have him. Don't ever delude yourself that you could. You would kill him if you tried to seduce him away from his family. He would have given up long ago if it weren't for the duty he feels for them. I think you can be of great comfort to him, though, as long as that's all you're attempting to do. He's a beautiful little thing, and you seem so very attached to him already, so you understand why I ask, why I tell you this, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," I said, abashed. But I had yet to express myself the way he had to me. I felt ashamed, but I couldn't bring myself to open my heart to him, not yet. That was the difference; I could trust Richard because he had little power to hurt me. He did not belong to me in any way.  
  
"Richard feels like a brother to me," I said quietly. "I don't have one, but I think this must be what it's like, at least a little. I feel protective of him. He is beautiful," I admitted, "but he isn't you. I want you." I smiled up at him. "What you can do to me."  
  
He caressed my upturned cheek. "Very good. Now take your clothes off."

With that, he dumped me out of his lap as he stood. I landed on my butt and stared at him looming over me.

"No? Still resisting?"

He took two steps to the kitchen counter and picked up the chef's knife I had used to open the grapes and was on top of me before I could react. He grabbed my hair as he straddled my chest so my head didn't smack into the floor when I was shoved backwards, but when I was flat on my back he released it to grab a fistful of the blouse I had on. He tugged it up around my ribs and with one hard pull, cut it in two. I froze, completely terrified of the blade, and he didn't have to hold me still when he scooted down my body. He watched my face carefully as he put the knife between my barely parted legs and slid it under my skirt towards my crotch. I whimpered as the tip of the knife dug into my thigh. When he kept pushing steadily, I screamed. He stopped forcing it, but didn't draw the blade back. He held it in place and twisted slowly and I felt a small 'pop' as the skin broke.  
  
"No!" I fluttered my hands at my sides, wanting to stop him and but afraid moving would cause him to cut me further.  
  
"'No', what?"  
  
"Please don't hurt me!"  
  
"But I already have. You can ask me one more time. Get it right. 'No', what?"  
  
"No… I don't… Oh, god!" I turned my head away from him and squeezed my eyes shut.  
  
"I can do whatever I want, if that's the case," he said cheerfully, but he withdrew the knife slightly and I felt my skirt tighten and then heard it rip as the blade cut through the hem. When I heard the knife clatter to the ground, I was sickened by my own reaction. I arched up off the floor and spread my legs, ripping the skirt even farther up to my crotch. I was offering my cunt to him. Anything to stop him from picking the blade back up. I bucked on the floor in little waves, I couldn't stop, and he didn't touch me for a long moment. I felt a tickle along my left thigh and knew it was blood, and I keened through closed lips when I heard the scrape as he picked up the knife.  
  
"Be still," he whispered. I found that more terrifying than if he'd yelled at me and I tried, though I couldn't help jumping when he pulled at the waistband on the skirt and then I felt the material fall away from me and I was completely naked now. The blade was still in his hand when he touched my knees, spreading them wide and up against my ribs, I could feel it in his palm as he gripped me, and then his mouth clamped onto my thigh, his tongue finding the hole in my leg and probing into it. I froze. He sucked on my skin hard enough I knew there would be a bruise now as well as the cut, and he pulled back to lap up the trail of blood down my leg for a moment before returning to the wound and he spent long minutes there nipping and sucking at the little hole until I couldn't take the pain and tried to jerk away. He breathed a laugh onto my skin, his touch leaving my knees for a moment to return to my thighs and he pulled me slowly towards him. I felt something push its way inside of me. The knife handle was hot from his hand and had hard edges which felt completely foreign and awful inside of me and the angle it made its entry at was painful; I imagined if I put my hand on my belly I would feel it pushing into my palm. I flexed my muscles instinctively, wanting it out, but he had buried the tip in the wooden floor.

He planted my feet wide apart and then I felt him grab my face and twist my head towards him. When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was my blood on his bottom lip and smeared across his right cheek.  
  
"Will you always remove your clothes when I ask from now on?"  
  
"Yes, James." It came out as a tiny breath more than a sound.  
  
"Don't fucking say my name. You and Richard need new rules, I think." As he spoke he squeezed my jaw in his hand until I yelped. He immediately released me, peering down as if looking for marks. "Put your arms underneath you and stay there until I say you can move."  
  
Carefully, I did what he said, but I couldn't keep from sliding further down onto the handle and the terror of the blade going into me brought me to tears. James remained impassively next to me, waiting until I had arched up just enough to move my forearms beneath my lower back. He grabbed my breasts then, pinching my nipples and twisting the bars back and forth as far as his wrists could go in one movement while I wept. He didn't comment when I closed my eyes, so I retreated for a moment into my own mind, trying to ignore what he was doing and the position I was in.  
  
"James!" Richard's alarmed voice brought me back to reality.  
  
"Shut the fuck up and come over here," James sounded annoyed, and he yanked hard on my tits. I squeaked, and received a slap on my left breast I couldn't react to because I was afraid of the knife inside of me.

Richard came into view on my right side when James pointed.

"Do you know why that's there?" he asked once Richard was on his knees, naked and damp, next to me. "Don't speak, I don't want to hear either of you."

I couldn't take the expressions on either face and stared straight up at the ceiling.

James kept toying with my piercings as he spoke. "I want you to understand her cunt belongs to me. Not you."

He reached out and slapped Richard and he gasped, surprised, but held himself still. James slapped him again, hard enough Richard had to put a hand down to keep from being knocked over.

"It is dangerous to you, and I want you to remember the way it looks right now so you won't forget. It will only cause you and she pain. Much worse than this, and look at her already. Crying because of your foolishness. I think she has learned her lesson. Haven't you?"

He pinched my thigh near the cut and I almost snapped my knees together and sobbed as the hilt moved inside me. I nodded my head and tried to keep calm. His fingers danced over my swollen and bruised flesh and when I glanced at Richard I could see him frowning and watching James' hand on my leg.  
  
"But I don't know about you."  
  
There was another slap and I felt Richard rock to one side. He cringed and the next impact sounded different. He said nothing, though, and didn't even cry out when James lashed the back of his hand across his mouth. He put his fingers to his lips for a moment and then straightened back up on his knees. This situating himself to continue taking James' abuse was what would often earn him respite, as it did now.

James stood, pulling out a chair and seating himself over us. I flinched when I felt something bounce off of my stomach. Richard slowly leaned down and picked the grape off of the floor by my hip with his teeth and chewed it with his head turned away from me. I felt something soft hit me, and then his lips were on my belly picking up the piece of croissant James had tossed on me. He fed Richard this way, casually throwing food on me which Richard had to retrieve, even using his fingers to smear the brie between my breasts so the other man had to scrape it off with his teeth. The ham was cold and felt slimy and I shivered whenever a chunk hit me, and James tossed it particularly hard so it would slap onto my skin. The smell of food so near was making me nauseous from hunger, but my arms were falling asleep beneath me and I began to shiver on the cold floor as well. When my flesh bumped up because of the chill, the bruising and cut on my thigh hurt and I wanted desperately to straighten my legs to relieve the ache in my hips from keeping them spread so wide. But I had no choice than to wait. I closed my eyes.  
  
When I heard the chair scoot next to me, I realised I had almost fallen asleep despite the thumping of the tomatoes and grapes against me and the gentle nips of Richard's teeth. James was back in the kitchen, I couldn't see him but could hear the water running. Richard was staring off into space. I kept still, not wanting to distract him. His tongue repeatedly flicked over his bottom lip and I wondered if his teeth had cut it when James had backhanded him, and the left half of his face was red from being slapped. There was swelling of one eyelid, too I noticed, as he blinked slowly, long brown eyelashes sweeping his cheeks. He turned his head almost mechanically as James returned. Acknowledging his master, I realised. How hard must that have been for him? Would I be taught to do the same? Would I be able to remember everything expected of me? I peered at Richard's bruised face again. Could I afford not to remember? I wasn't scared of being marked, only of how creative James might be at doing so. My pussy clenched around the hilt inside of me.  
  
"You look like kittens, the two of you, staring up like that at me," James said, standing over us. Richard blinked and his face clouded briefly, but before I could wonder why, James put his his foot on my chest, pressing down slowly until he was balanced just enough to make breathing with my belly the only option.

"Take the knife out of her, Richard."  
  
We looked at each other. Then Richard looked between my legs, and back at me quickly. I knew what the problem was. James was keeping me from moving off of the hilt so Richard had no choice but to touch only the exposed blade, and he had to get it out of the floor without forcing the edge into me. I felt like I was going to pee again from fear. I shut my eyes tightly and willed myself not to show him I was afraid or react if he hurt me.

The first shock came when I felt his fingers brush my clitoris. I was wet and aroused and I hadn't even realised it. I felt him pull my labia apart to see better how close the blade was to contacting my skin, and I wasn't reassured at all when I felt his fingers push slightly into my vagina before bumping the square handle. Maybe only a few centimeters, but he was going to have to push the blade that way to get it out. I felt Richard work his fingers inside of me and the pressure pushing upwards into me lessened slightly. There was a pause before the handle jerked and then it was gone from my body.

James removed his foot and when I opened my eyes, his hand was extended out for me. I groaned as I moved my arms, they were both asleep at the biceps and my shoulders ached, but I managed to reach him and he helped me sit up.

Richard was gazing down at the knife in his hands, his fingers glistening with my come and his blood, the latter of which was seeping between the fingers of both hands as he clutched the blade. He gasped loudly as James pulled it away from him and dropped it on the table. He gave no other command, and Richard simply knelt there, fists clenched, blood dripping in fat dollops to the floor and over his knees, for another ten minutes while James proceeded to feed me from his fingers.  
  
I didn't want to eat at first. I was shaken at the cruelty he'd shown us and it was guilt to the point of agony inside me that Richard was now bleeding at my expense. I could see and smell his blood on James' fingers as he brought fruit to my lips and I bit them closed instead of opening to him.  
  
"You want to be protected, don't you?" he said softly. "Now you have two protectors. Do you see? Neither Richard nor I will let anything bad happen to you, if at all possible, even if we are hurt doing so."

I stared at him, incredulous at his ability to twist my heart's desires to suit his sadism. I was impressed as well, because he couldn't have proved it to me in a clearer way, and he knew I wouldn't let Richard's sacrifice be for nothing.  
  
He put the grape to my lips again. This time he crushed it and dripped the juice on my mouth. I automatically licked at it and the sugary sweetness made me salivate. I took the food from him then. I became almost hypnotized by the pattern of accepting and chewing and waiting for the next offering and by the time the last morsel was gone I realised why Richard had looked so peaceful after he'd been fed. There was no reason to worry about anything, we only had to look to James for direction and for that which would sustain us. I sighed at the release of tension inside me, of worry and fear and trepidation. James was smiling, but I didn't smile back. It wasn't an expression I could share or even understand completely. I lowered my eyes but kept my chin up, so he could see my face as I knew he enjoyed looking at it, and waited. He could have left me there forever. I felt his fingers caress my cheek and then he was gone. After a few moments I heard a familiar rattle though I didn't turn to look, and in another minute I felt James behind me and the pear gag I had worn the night before was dangled in front of my face. I opened my mouth.  
  
"I have some calls to make, princess. Help him with his hands."  
  
Richard, his black ball gag firmly in place, was still few feet away, kneeling in a small pool of congealing blood. His fingers were white from making tight fists and I had to run warm water over the sticky mess before he relaxed and the blood thinned and slipped away down the drain enough for him to open his hands. His left pinky and ring finger was cut neatly in a single matching line, but not deeply and the bleeding was close to stopping, I doubted there would even be scars. His right hand was sliced open across the palm to the outside mount, and he was trembling when it was clean enough to see the damage clearly. I didn't think he needed stitches, but it was still bleeding steadily. I hurried to the bathroom, returning when I'd found gauze, pads, and medical tape. I dressed his palm first, the other fingers needed band-aids and could wait.  
  
I led him to the couch when I was done with his injuries, but as I tried to step away to clear the table and clean the blood from the floor, he startled me by grunting loudly behind his gag and catching my wrist with his left hand. He jerked me hard and I fell onto the couch next to him. He barely let me move to a sitting position before he threw his arms around me, pressing his head into my chest and tucking his legs up under him, curling into my lap. I could feel his heart racing then, and he was still shaking. I stroked his neck and back and concentrated on breathing calmly, knowing he would match my rhythm before too long.  
  
For once, James didn't pull us apart when he found us. I was amazed again at how nonthreatening he appeared, with his worn jeans and printed shirt, his hair a slightly messy cloud around his face, that oh so calm expression he wore. Nothing betrayed the menace I knew to be lurking inside him somewhere. Richard had quieted as I'd hoped he would, his tight embrace on me had relaxed and his hands were now resting limply in my naked lap, his head still on my chest. When I ceased petting him he turned his head in James' direction and we both simply waited for the severity to surface. But for a time we were safe, and James made tea instead, bringing the steaming cups to us. He sat across from us, watching silently for a minute before he finally spoke.  
  
"Like I said to her, I don't want either of you to address me directly. If you need something, have something to say, well, you don't. I don't want him picking any bad habits up from you, girl, like apologising or telling me no, so if you simply don't talk, that's one less thing I have to worry about. I had him speaking only when allowed, anyway—fuck, you see how much he talks otherwise—and now I find he's whispering to you when I'm not around and even complaining directly at me. His mind is easy enough to conquer, you must be getting to his balls or his heart to be that courageous. Drink your tea—oh, wait," he chuckled to himself. "You can't."

He stood and came to us.

"Here, hold this," he said, thrusting his cup at Richard. He took it in both hands and then groaned and dropped his wounded right, leaving the fingertips of the left gripping the hot cup instead of the handle. He hissed loudly and moved to set it on the table to adjust his grip, but James blocked him.

"I said hold it, not set it down."  
  
I was shocked when Richard began crying. He stared at the cup searing his fingers, tears coursing down his face, his useless right hand quivering on his leg. I leaned forward slightly so James could unlock my gag, but he pushed me away. He carefully grasped Richard's wrist and moved his hand out from his body and straddled him as he had me at my apartment, sitting heavily on Richard's legs and pushing him back firmly into the couch. Only then did he take the cup by the handle. With his free hand, he slid his fingers into the strap of the ball gag and pulled Richard's head to one side, exposing his neck and he pressed the hot mug there. Richard's body surged, his fingers splaying out, and I hoped he wouldn't reopen his cut up, but I could do nothing to help him. James slid the cup into a new position every few seconds and Richard's feet kicked when the heat neared his adam's apple.  
  
"Shh-shh, hold still," James said in an oddly soothing voice. "What will be worse is if I spill it."  
  
When Richard's head was turned towards me so James could have the other side of his neck, I thought I had never seen such vacancy in someone's eyes who had to be feeling so much. His body was reacting still, his chest sharply rising as he sucked in air through his nose each time heat was applied to his skin, but he was somewhere else in his mind completely; he did not blink for long seconds, his brown eyes settled on a point somewhere near my face and never shifted once. I worried his lack of response would compel James to increase his pain, if that were possible, but he didn't seem to notice, going about his torture with an almost clinical disinterest. He paused finally and took a sip of the tea and, finding it cool enough to drink easily now, he slid off Richard. His victim was drooling a little and crying still, his neck and chest flaming red, and as I had feared, there was fresh blood surfacing on the bandage over his palm.  
  
"I had almost forgotten how much you hate hot things."  
  
He seemed petrified, still wide-eyed and blinking slowly and I wanted him in my arms but was afraid to move. James shrugged after a moment and waved a dismissive hand at us.

"Tara, you can take off your gag. I don't think he wants his tea, but you may have yours. And get dressed, we're going somewhere."  
  
Somewhere turned out to be the bondage shop from the night before. James sent me in again, unmolested because I had driven, but without a list. The person behind the counter knew my name when I entered the dark store. Several bags were hefted onto the counter and the total made me blink, but I had the notion then that James probably was not a big spender on most things. This was definitely an indulgence that came with a price worth paying. The clinking of steel coming from the bags was surprisingly nerve-wracking and exciting during the drive home. Richard was asleep on the couch, and only twitched his wounded hands at the small noises we made entering the house, and I loved the idea he was so trusting and used to James' presence.

We made short work of the packages and wrappings. Before long there was an arsenal of perversions adorning the counter, cleaned and ready to be used in ways I couldn't begin to imagine.  
  
But I would learn.  
  
While Richard slept, James produced a length of rope and began to loop and knot it around my body. Over my shoulders, under my arms, across my chest, around my belly, tugging and pulling and weaving until I was in a corset-like net that squeezed my ribs when I took in a breath and garrotted my breasts, making them jut out. He picked through my clothing and chose a simple slip dress to cover my body harness, and panties, because I was wet and aroused despite myself by the time he was tightening the last knot. I could move freely, and with the dress on it was almost impossible to tell I was tied up, but the sense of confinement was impossible to ignore. James placed the collar around my neck again and I rested my bottom gingerly on a stool at the kitchen counter, breathing carefully, sure the harness was becoming tighter somehow. I was watching him mess about with what I was sure was a cock cage—a metal mesh case, curved, with a ring attached by a small spacer—when a ringing sounded from somewhere.

James dropped his toy and rushed around me. Richard was already pushing himself up, blinking, his hands going automatically to the ball gag still strapped to his head, but James was faster and had it off in a moment. Richard smiled at him before darting away to the small bedroom. The ringing stopped and I heard Richard sleepily say, "Hi, baby!" before the door closed.  
  
"His wife?" I asked cautiously, hoping James would forgive my query. That he would understand.  
  
James made a noncommittal noise. He returned to examining the chastity cage, but after a few moments he sat it back down and leaned heavily on the counter, palms flat, looking at the door Richard had disappeared behind.  
  
"Are you worried about him?" I ventured after several long minutes.  
  
He grunted again, and nudged some items around on the tiles before glancing up at me. He sighed. "At home, she doesn't usually ring after him because he's not gone long, or he calls her when he's ready. It never settles well with him when we're like this and he hears from her. It's hard to tell what's going on in his head, but sometimes he gets…a little upset."  
  
"Upset?" I wasn't sure how far I was going to get with my questions, but I had so many of them I had to try.

James gave me a thoughtful look and then said, "You never did clean his blood off the floor over there."  
  
I was using the bloodied rag to swipe up crumbs and errant bits of ham when Richard finally reemerged. I sneaked a glance at him. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt now, his wounded hand was curled in a loose fist. He searched for and found me, but when our eyes met his jumped away as if from a bright light. He shuffled up to James with his head down, not even interested in the gear laid out.  
  
"How's Mindy?" James ask politely. "Everything fine?"  
  
"She's well, thanks. Dropped the girls at her mum's for the last bit of the holiday, gets to see her sister. Misses me. Says hullo to you." It was a monotonous delivery. Mindy, I repeated the name to myself, dying to know more. There was silence and I brushed at some imaginary bits on the floor.  
  
Richard was shifting from one foot to the other, his quick breathing indicative he was working out something to say. He was squeezing his cut palm with his fingers repeatedly, and when James looked over his shoulder at me, I realised Richard was rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet. Suddenly Richard smacked his hand against the countertop.  
  
" _James—_ " he managed, the word pure mourning.  
  
James slapped him, snatching at his tee shirt to keep him from stumbling back, and slapped him again when Richard grabbed his wrist. I was sure Richard was going to fight him. James shook him by his shirt front, throwing him off balance as he reached back and caught a handful of hair, but he merely let out a low moan and went mostly limp in James' grip.  
  
"I told you not to use my name, idiot." James murmured to him, not unkindly. "And why are you dressed?"

Richard made a gasping noise which might have been a laugh, and closed his eyes. I saw a couple tears slide down his cheek to his jaw. James held him up for a several moments, deciding.

Richard was stripped without fussing, allowing himself to be maneuvered like a doll, as James became a spider. His web was more of the soft cotton rope I was corseted in. Richard's throat was encircled first, a knot tied the long open loop off near the his lower back. James pressed him to his knees, then onto his back, bending first one knee and grasping the ankle to pull it back towards his hip. He threaded the rope along the inside of Richard's foot, between the arch and his hip bone, and wound it several times around the ankle. As he tugged and tightened the rope, Richard was slowly levered up, his back forced into an arch off the ground, his arms coming closer underneath him to support himself. The rope now cordoned off the big toe from the others and it was bent away as James wrapped the rope around the sole of Richard's foot and knotted it off. He stepped over the torqued body and repeated the design on the other side. If he was careful, Richard could keep from choking himself with his feet, but he would have to stay in the backbend with his belly and chest arched up, resting on the tops of his shoulders and his neck, his hands bracing his hips. His eyes were closed, a little frown pulling his wide mouth downwards, and he didn't react at all when James fitted his genitals into the chastity device, nor when James reached between his legs and pulled his hands towards the floor so he could bind the wrists with rope, the ends of which was wrapped around the base of his cock and balls, behind the newly fitted cage and pulled taut, causing the cage to slip down as far as it could go, which wasn't far, but Richard's balls were the only things keeping it from pulling off. They were soon taking all the strain. Richard shifted finally, trying to arch up farther onto the back of his head, but there was little flexibility left to him.  
  
James stepped away from him, coming to sit by me. He swiveled my chair around so I was facing him and took my wrists back behind me, indicating I should grip the back of the seat. My back arched in pale mimicry of Richard's, pushing my breasts forward. James cupped them, squeezing forcefully and pinching the nipples, tugging them up and down until I was squirming and gasping.  
  
"I was thinking," James pulled hard on both nipples until I was leaning as far forward as I could without letting go of the seat. And he kept pulling. "About permanently modifying these. Stretching them out, making them longer. Stacking little rings behind these bars, adding more over time." He studied my face for a reaction. I had no idea what I was giving away. I was too aroused to make good decisions, James had to know that, but he smiled, if that's what that little grimace really was.  
  
"Come," he said, and pulled me forward by the piercings. Standing by Richard's head, he stripped the dress off my body and tapped the back of my knees. I knelt carefully, having to spread my legs to keep from pressing my thighs right into Richard's face. His eyes were open finally, but the frown was still there. Little beads of sweat had appeared on his chest. I felt my wrists wrapped in soft leather cuffs and secured together before James reached around me from behind, a length of thin twine in his hand. He deftly tied a little slipknot and looped it around the bar through my left nipple and, reaching under Richard, pulled it tight around his back. He made another knot and secured my right piercing and I was now caught in the web, too. Any time we shifted or breathed deeply it tugged at my nipples, and I knew I was going to have to balance carefully. If I fell forward, Richard's balls were in peril.  
  
I heard a strange rattling sound. James was twitching a flogger at his side, the little knots at the end of each lash ticking against one another. He moved close to us, trailing the lash over Richard's body. He twirled it, gently at first, then with more force, and still Richard did not react to the repetitive blows. Occasionally one of the lashes caught the twine attached to my breasts and I yelped, leaning forward to ease the tension. But too far forward and I would fall on top of Richard. Soon, James was bringing the flogger down on Richard's chest and belly and across his thighs with hard strokes and it wasn't until his stretched and reddened balls were impacted that he grunted and his knees tried to come together, but that was all. He wasn't gagged, but didn't ask once for James to stop, even as his body became striped and dark cherry red from the incessant lashing. Finally, James seemed to tire of his indifference, and turned the flogger on me. I was not nearly the challenge. Used now to beating Richard, James swatted the flogger across my back with so much force I rocked forward, quickly tucking my toes under for better balance. I squealed in protest and pain as he attacked my buttocks and shoulders with the flogger, not even noticing the pull on my nipples now. The impact of the flogger was like being stung and hit with an open hand at the same time. There was a brief pause, and I heard a click and then felt James' hand on my head. His other hand appeared before me, with a long white candle, a new flame coming to life at the tapered tip.  
  
"Open," James said and the candle slid between my teeth. "Don't drop it on him."

I tried to get a firm grip with my teeth on the candle, afraid I might bite through the wax. I wrapped my lips around it and tilted my head up a little, thinking it would keep the wax from melting, and dripping, as much as I could. James clucked his tongue at me, hand sliding to my forehead and pulling it back so I was looking at the ceiling. I closed my eyes, the flame was bright and much closer to my face than I was comfortable with, but they opened wide and pleaded with James to stop this a soon as the first hot rivulets of melted wax ran down the candle and across my bottom lip. Instead, he moved my head from side to side and up and down, controlling where the wax ran down until my lips where sealed closed around the base of the candle. Only then did he guide my head back down so I was looking forward once more, holding the candle level, horizontally over Richard's throat and chest.  
  
When the drops began to rain down over him, he flinched away, jerking my nipples and yanking me perilously forward. I mewed at him, begging him to hold still, but this was what James wanted. He stood over us, watching Richard twitch and pant and sweat as the fear of fire overwhelmed him, watching me sway and whine as my nipples were garrotted and pulled. He brought the flogger down across my ass again, hard, and I bounced slightly, and I couldn't stop from lowering my head and curling forward when he aimed for my ribs. He hit the twine many times, without care, and as I tried to protect myself the flame burned straight back up the candle and a steady stream of molten wax flowed over Richard now, spattering on his chest, pooling at his throat and running over his shoulders. I could see his fingers splayed wide as he twisted his back seeking to escape, but James kept us there until the candle was perilously short and close to my face. He carefully took hold of it near my sealed lips and with a quick, painful twist, broke it free from my mouth and the wax holding it there.  
  
"Oooo!" I whined as the wax peeled away, taking little hairs with it. More helpless noises leaked through the small hole as James tilted my head back and carefully resealed my lips.

He used the rest of the candle nub to coat Richard's shivering body. His groin, thighs, chest, and ribs were soon dressed in white. Before he blew out the candle, he used it to burn through the twine tying my tits to Richard. When the smoldering end fell on his skin near his armpit, Richard let out a low, angry growl and thrashed his head around, finding and giving James an icy look.

James pulled me up by one arm and nudged my feet apart, moving me so I was standing over Richard's head. He left us for a moment before returning with another long, thin cane. I whined again behind my sealed lips, and had a moment of relief when James set the cane down on the counter. He went to a drawer in the kitchen, rattling things around until he found what he was looking for. Two large lead fishing weights, about two inches long. And heavy, I discovered as he tied them to the bits of twine still dangling from my piercings. They pulled and swayed incessantly, and I was concentrating so much on trying to be still, as they were tightening the slipknots inexorably, that when James snapped the cane down across the top of my right tit, I was totally unprepared and screamed, the sound coming through my nose more than anything. I shook my head, pleading with him as best I could, but the cane came down relentlessly, repetitively, across my breasts. I burst into tears. I couldn't stop it, or the horrible sounds coming out of me, which half sounded like insane laughter. I tried to stay still, I didn't want to step on Richard, but I couldn't keep from moving backwards, away from the blows. James anticipated my movements though, and lashed at my ass, keeping me in place, before returning to my breasts, aiming for the sides of my firmly tied and separated tits. The weights bounced and pulled with every lash and hurt as I shook and twisted away despite myself. James put a hand on my neck to hold me still, and his blows became more sharp. My right breast was taking most of the hits and I would have sworn he was using something hot once more from the terrible pain there. I couldn't take anymore, and a scream which might have been ear shattering had I not been so muffled tore up my throat.

My knees went weak and James had to drop the cane and use both his hands on me to hold me steady until I was able to stand on my own. I was sobbing, tears and snot wetting my face. I couldn't look at James, or at Richard below me. I was too afraid of one, that he would not relent, and ashamed in front of the other. When James plucked the cane back off the floor, I threw my head back and squealed again, my nipples on fire, the weights swinging and knocking against each other, tugging and pulling and making my bruised breasts move painfully, but as James took a step back to strike me, Richard spoke.  
  
"Please, fucking stop it! She can't take any more. James, do—Aaah!" His plea turned into a cry as James broke the cane across Richard's chest. Richard writhed at the sudden pain, pushing his face into my ankle, breathing quickly against my skin. James released my wrists from each other and handed me the flogger. I looked from it to him and gave a little shake of my head.  
  
"You look like you have a mouthful of come leaking out."

I blushed at his words and attempted to hand back the flogger. He reached past it and picked up the weights hanging from my nipples and dropped them.  
  
"Mmee!" I raised my hand to stop them from swinging, but James batted it down.  
  
"Get the wax off him, and I'll remove those."

When I just stood there, unwilling to understand what he was asking of me, he snatched the flogger out of my hand and struck Richard forcefully across the belly, knocking loose bits of wax. He handed it back to me.

"Like that. Now do it, princess, or your pretty tits are going to be terribly sore in about an hour."  
  
He wasn't going to let me out of this. I tentatively swung the heavy flogger, letting its own weight propel it down, but it didn't have the effect on the wax James' strike had. It took me several awkward tries before I knocked any of the wax loose, but to my horror the heaviness I had to hit him with caused Richard to grunt on impact. I kept going, though, carefully aiming so as not to waste a blow. Richard was hissing and wriggling by the time I had cleared most of the wax from his chest, and I decided to try for the soles of his feet next, but I couldn't reach them without cracking the knotted tassels against his rib cage. He was trying not to react for my sake, but I could tell he was hurting. Not just from the flogger and my ineptness with it, but from the length of time he'd been tied this way, bent backwards, constant tension on his balls, his burning shoulders holding him up, bent knees aching to be straightened. I began to panic. I lashed down hard at his feet, hoping I could just knock off the coating in one blow, and when it didn't work, I switched to his thighs, but the first time I accidentally tapped his cock cage and his trapped ball sack and he cursed loudly, I dropped the flogger and flung myself at James' feet. He pulled my head back by my hair, and using his thumb nail, cut through the wax sealing my lips.  
  
I shook free of his grip on my hair and put my forehead on his shoes. "I can't. Please don't do this!" The words were hard to get out, my lips stiff. "I can't! Do it to me instead, or if he can—but don't make him if he doesn't want to. Please! You can do this to me, I don't care—I want it! Just don't make me hurt him anymore."  
  
I felt James' hand in my hair again and then I was dragged to my feet. He glared at me and jerked me close to his face so his lips were brushing my cheek as he hissed, "I am going to do this to you, don't you understand? I can't treat this whore like this the majority of the time, so it will be you in his place. You will get your turn, and I wouldn't be so fucking eager for it!"

He swung me around by my hair and shoved me roughly away.

"Sit there and watch, then. Richard! She's abandoned you to me, can you believe it? One simple task for her and you could be free, but she won't do it. She wants me to continue."

I stayed silent though I wanted to scream it wasn't true, but I was afraid of what James would do if I undermined what he was saying. Richard turned his head. I looked away quickly. Betrayal in his eyes would have crushed me. So I was left sitting on the floor a few feet from them as James finished what I had begun. Richard was bucking and writhing by the time James was done using the flogger on him to clear away the wax. He had cried out several times, especially when James had focused on his groin, and when the flogger licked at his throat, catching his chin and cheeks several times. I picked at the wax around my lips, not having been told not to, and afraid of what James might think up to remove it himself, and watched them, trying to ignore my burning nipples. Finally, James seemed satisfied. He left Richard tied where he was, though, and walked slowly towards me until he was looming over me. I looked up into his unfathomable face, trembling and excited and fearful. Of him, my own failings and fantasies. Of making this worse for Richard.  
  
"I know I am right about you both, that you will try to save each other, that one will take as much as they can bear in place of the other's pain," James said, more to himself than me.

"I will hurt you. It's not often I can even leave a mark on him, and oh how I've wanted to. This is my chance. But when it is over, and he is no longer solely mine, what I long to do to him I will take out on you." He crouched down and flicked at bits of the wax on my face I had missed. "You are mine now, aren't you? When you're hurting him, I can see all you want to do is stop, that you hate me—shhh, I know you do, just a little—for making you do it. But you're proud of yourself once it's done, proud I ask you to do it, proud I believe you will push yourself for me. And you both like suffering for each other, having someone to share that with, finally." He glanced over his shoulder at his other captive, tied and shaking on the floor, and when he turned back to me, his voice was quiet, but fierce.

"I am going to torture him, and you're going to help me, and while you're doing it you're going to put yourself in his place, imagine yourself where he is, enduring what he is, because I want you to be prepared. I need you to know what your life will consist of with me. It is hard to give him what he needs sometimes, but after this, when you are with me, it will be so much easier to make him suffer. As you just suffered, doing what you did to him, as you are suffering knowing the pain he is in right now, lying there like that. He needs it, and he will love you all the more for giving it to him. When he cannot have it done to him, he will be able to feel it, drink of it, through you. Do you understand?"  
  
I nodded, my heart pounding.  
  
James stayed true to his promise of torturing Richard.

In the next week, many hours was spent gagged and kneeling in the corner, watching James beat and bruise Richard's small body. The wax removal was repeated, this time with Richard's wrists tied above his head, attached to the ceiling, hands and fingers bound tightly around a flaming candle that rained down on him. James pulled him up until he was dancing on his toes, blindfold in place and his gag tight and threaded through with a rope that was attached to a fishhook shaped steel bar. The bar had a large ball on the curved end James slowly forced into Richard's ass, pulling up until the longer part was flush along his spine and then tied to the back of his ball gag with a short length of rope. Richard's head was kept far back, and every time his body arched away from the molten liquid flung by James at him, or dripping from above, the bar and ball in his ass tugged forcefully. This time James used a cane, several of them, to break the wax off his skin, and Richard was left hanging limply by his wrists, sobbing around his gag, his body a latticework of red welts. He was bound to a chair, those same weights used on me now dangling from cruel clamps off his nipples until he was unabashedly begging for release from them.

His cock was kept locked away, always, even when James took us both out of the house to eat in the evenings, when Richard could wear enough clothes to hide the marks without overheating in Florida's humid summer. When we stayed in, James used his body as a table, setting our hot tea cups and plates on his back or his chest as Richard trembled hard enough to make the dishes rattle. He was fucked, scolded, teased and beaten constantly. When he fought back, as I'd often seen him struggle not to, James turned to me, beckoning me towards them. Somehow my presence, my involvement, suppressed this instinct. I was to hold Richard's wrists up behind his back higher than he could naturally lift them, to be tied like that by James, or made to kneel and stretch my mouth around the ever-present cock cage, teasing him, causing his own body's natural response to make him uncomfortable while he was paddled from behind, each hard strike pushing him into me. James had an arsenal of pain causing implements, made several up himself from household items, or used me for weight and leverage when he found the chairs and lead pieces weren't heavy enough.  
  
Eventually though, James' abuse ebbed. He admitted later he'd been in a sort of frenzy. They had been in Miami for two days before meeting me and had attended a few work related car shows—the excuse, Richard said, for them to holiday together. James had his plans, though, and a year or so of ideas and fantasies and haltingly begged for needs from Richard to get out of his system, and I had a strange sense of relief I had not interfered with any of it. I had even helped it along in some cases. But it had to ease off, Richard had to have time for his body to heal. There was a certain amount of bruises that seemed normal for him, apparently, being the adrenaline junkie everyone knew him to be, and the accident prone Sagittarius he was born as, but he was a mess of shallow cuts, bruises and welts when James finally broke the last cane from the bundle across the tops of Richard's thighs. He released my wrists from where they were attached to the back of Richard's collar and helped me up off the floor. My arms ached from holding them above my head; if I had let them droop it would have cut off Richard's ability to breathe.  
  
“There's a black suitcase in my room. I want you to pack all of this gear up into it, except what you and he have on right now. Make sure it's stored properly, as you'll be bringing it along with you when you come to London." I blinked at him, gagged, and nodded. He turned to leave the cottage. "Oh, right." He loosened the gag from my mouth, leaving it hanging around my neck. "What was that stuff called that makes bruises go away?"  
  
"Arnica," I supplied, my voice rough after not having spoken for two days.  
  
"Right, Arnica. Thank you, princess."

He left.  
  
I avoided going near Richard at first, instead I did James' bidding and gathered up all the pieces he'd bought in the two trips to the bondage shop. I was not surprised he didn't want to take them back to England amongst his own things, and figured he might have had them mailed home otherwise. Home. My home soon.  
  
Richard shifted, and the chair he was tied to creaked loudly, drawing my attention. His home. Where was it? How close was he to James? How often would we see one another? How often did Richard need this attention? Over the past few days I had seen, with some alarm, Richard dip into the madness James had claimed was there. He and his wife Mindy had a ritual of calling each other before one of them went to sleep. Since she was hours ahead of our time, it was usually she who called for him. He and James had tried to, without actually talking about it, make sure Richard was available for her—which is why our days shifted quickly into long nights after her calls, or early morning sessions, often napping in the afternoons, Richard and I chained together back to back on the floor, James lazing on the couch. Our arms bound behind us, we could lace our fingers, caressing and squeezing each other like school kids sneaking a touch under the lunch table. But each time she called, Richard was shaken to the core somehow. He wouldn't eat afterwards; James even tried starving him during the day, only offering him food once the nightly call was finished, but Richard would be completely despondent. At best, he would aggressively attempt to piss James off, resisting being tied, not responding to commands, trying to goad James into hurting him more than was necessary.

Or safe.

He managed to rattle James a few times, driving James into hitting him angrily. Once James became so fed up with Richard's unresponsiveness he kicked over the chair Richard was tied to. Richard slammed into the ground and even I made a noise of protest as Richard came dangerously close to knocking his head on another piece of furniture. James had stood over him, shaking with rage, at himself or at Richard I couldn't say. But each time, James mastered himself, even if it meant leaving the scene for a while, leaving Richard in his self-hating delirium. But he always pulled Richard out of it, somehow. Using pain, using pleasure and the denial of it, using my weaknesses which Richard could never ignore, James would drag the man kicking, weeping, begging or screaming back to sanity, back to himself, back to us. It was always a look, an expression on his face or a clearness in his eyes which would make James visibly relax, that would bring an end to the game for the day, for a few hours at least.  
  
All of this concreted my desire and my decision to be with them, to be with James and help Richard if and when I could. There were a few moments when I was scared, when what James was doing to Richard horrified me and made me sick inside at the suggestion I might be the one suffering like that eventually. But the more I watched them, the more I was part of this, I realised I had been exactly right at the beginning, when I had seem them together in the restaurant. This was love, with no boundaries. They accepted each other completely, trusted each other implicitly. This was friendship without expectation, a pure give and take of all they had to offer. I had never seen or believed in such a thing, such an affection between two people who were so able to be themselves. I wasn't completely confident who I was at this point, but I could see with these two I would be accepted no matter what, and that with James especially, with his slow assessment of situations and events, with his thoughtful character and insight, with what he'd already coaxed out of me the day he'd told me he wanted me, I would be safe to find myself.  
  
Once my chore was done and everything was packed neatly away, I went to Richard. Kneeling in front of him, I put my hands gently on his knees and settled my chin there. He was blindfolded and gagged, his short, golden brown hair matted with dried sweat, his wrists chained under the seat. At my touch, his head dipped and his toes wiggled as far as they could go with his ankles bound the the chair legs and touched me. I moved closer to him.  
  
"I am going to miss you," I said. "I don't know when I'll see you again once you leave here. Do you?"

He shook his head.

"I told James you're like my brother. I want you to know that. I would do anything for you if you needed me. I want you to be able trust me like you trust James. I don't expect you do now, or that you might ever, but I would like it very much if you could, some day."

It had come out haltingly, and with no little embarrassment, but once it was said, I felt happy and relieved. Richard’s head was tilted, and I heard his hands shuffling under his seat, and he didn’t try stop me as I reached for his bonds. I decided to untie his hands first, never having seen him remove his own gag or blindfold and weirdly I wondered if he even would. He did, the gag first, unsurprisingly. Once he could see as well, he slipped his ankles out of the ropes and stood. He held his hand out to me and lifted me up from the floor when I took his fingers, and he hugged me, tightly.  
  
“I do trust you, Tara!” he said firmly. “I want to. I hope you don’t regret any of this, or have any once you’re there with us. I…I will miss you,” his voice was quiet and a little shaky as he said so, and I worried suddenly he might slip. “We will be friends, won’t we? No rivalry. I don’t think I could bear it if there were. I want to always be happy to see you. You will tell me if anything troubles you? I want that, I want everything to be good between us, always.”  
  
We decided then to walk down to the beach together, where we found a little shade near a jetty, and talked, and it was the first time for both of us that we spoke so openly about the life we felt safe to live only in James’ presence. In the next couple of hours, we built ourselves a small island of common ground, surrounded by a sea of judgment and scorn, ridicule and aversion, at least from our vantage, and by the time James found us, we were secure in the agreement that we could cling to each other for understanding and acceptance, and could turn to each other when sanity was in doubt.  
  
James didn’t scold us as we’d both bet that he would, and we privately shared a glance of concern that he had something worse in mind for us wandering off, but he sat down next to me and stretched out on the sand and gazed off at the ocean for a long time. Richard wanted to get his feet wet and left us, walking away slowly, hands in the pockets of his shorts, white dress shirt pressed against his skin by the wind, the collars and cuffs buttoned to hide his bruises. There weren’t many people around, but he was too shy and worried about being recognised to forgo the precaution.  
  
_“Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee—_  
_Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?_  
_Thy waters washed them power while they were free,_  
_And many a tyrant since; their shores obey_  
_The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay_  
_Has dried up realms to deserts—not so thou,_  
_Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play._  
_Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow;_  
_Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now._

 _Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form_  
_Glasses itself in tempest; in all time,_  
_Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale or storm,_  
_Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime_  
_Dark-heaving—boundless, endless, and sublime;_  
_The image of eternity, the throne_  
_Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime_  
_The monsters of the deep are made; each zone_  
_Obeys thee, thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.”_  
  
James gave me a mischievous little smile when he was done intoning the bit of poetry.  
  
“That was wonderful! Byron, isn’t it? ‘The Ocean’.”  
  
His smile grew. “Indeed. Do you like poetry?”  
  
“Well, I especially like certain things, and art inspired by them. The ocean, clouds, the forest, certain historical periods. I like to search for poetry and paintings and music that have to do with them.”  
  
“Fair enough. You are so lovely, if you don’t mind my saying so.”  
  
“I don’t mind. Thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure. You are not so tanned as everyone else here. You’re not going to miss sunny Florida too much, are you? London is…not so warm, to say the least.”  
  
“I won’t miss it. I don’t really like it here. It’s too hot. I came here because a friend offered me a place to stay after my mother died.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”  
  
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “It was quick, and I was just, well, not doing much; shitty jobs, being a kid, still living at home. In Wisconsin. I was born there, and it’s very cold, so this,” I waved my hand at the blue sky and the shimmering heat coming off the sand, “was a terrible shock to say the least.”

Richard was a little shape in the distance, bending once in a while in the low surf to pluck something from the sand.

“After she died," I continued, "I couldn’t keep the house, so I sold it and came here. My friend ended up having to relocate for a job shortly after I was hired at the magazine, and that was that. And here we are.”  
  
“Here we are, and you’re going to leave this soon, too. Are you sure you want to?”  
  
“Yes, I am positive. Are _you_ sure?”  
  
“I bought your ticket today.”  
  
“You did? When?”  
  
“A week after Hammond and I leave. Is that enough time?” he asked.  
  
“That’s fine. I have so little, really. Books…”  
  
“Do me a favour? Pack them well, your books, and anything else. So that if you decide to stay they can be sent as they are without having to be reboxed. We’ll go get you some shipping boxes later.”

I didn’t reply just so he would look at me and see me smiling.  
  
I learned in the following week that James loved to learn. He loved to study, hypothesize, and elucidate. He absorbed auditorily and visually, and applied it to what my motivation and desires were. His tactile presence was as restricted as ever; he seemed to feel most comfortable with a cane between himself and Richard and I, or a belt. Or if there was direct contact, it was through a slap or via a strong grip. As there were no more canes, we were both spared their bite, and it was his palm I felt more often than not. Richard was locked away in chastity the remainder of the time, though James had no compunction against using him sexually, fucking his mouth or ass often, usually during one of his learning sessions, which he forced Richard to participate in.  
  
“What’s she feeling?” he hissed into Richard’s ear as the other man strained to hold himself up so he could see me on the couch. James had him bent over the ottoman and was behind him, in him, I assumed distantly. James had spent nearly an hour spanking me. He started brutally, with no warning, simply catching me as I walked by him and shoving my skirt up, straddling my back and pinning me to the cushions before raining stinging, sharp, loud blows on my cheeks.  
  
“She looks pissed off,” Richard growled, irritated himself at being used and denied his own pleasure. He was not too far from the truth, and for the same reasons. James had intended to hurt me, to make me struggle to get away, and I had responded in kind. I didn’t like the way I felt, though, I didn’t want to be angry at James, I wanted to submit to him, and it was confusing when he forced my will.

Later, he made up for it, in his own way. I was behind Richard now, my face pushed into his backside, my tongue lapping and dabbing at the hole James had previously used. He was spanking me again, but this time I barely felt it, being so occupied as I was pleasuring Richard. Richard’s shy moans and movements distracted me utterly from the pain, and I knew it should hurt by the way my body was rocked forward from the force of the blows, and that he was smacking my thighs as well.  
  
It was this frame of mind James made a game of. He would try to manipulate me into this submissive space, this heightened state of arousal where I was able to endure prolonged abuse, intense pain, where I was relaxed in the face of fear and danger. He used Richard, having him call out when he felt I was too far gone from whatever James was doing to me, about to break and scream or cry, to tell on me when he felt I was trying too hard to take pain, and James would change gears and pull me back from the edge, back into the palm of his hand where I would beg for more pain, as long as I could suck on his cock, or Richard’s fingers, their toes, until my jaw was aching and my pussy was dripping.  
  
After a few days, even Richard noticed a slight change. It was harder to push me towards that edge, that place where I became angry, where what James was doing simply hurt and nothing else. James’ sudden touch, his yanking me down across his lap, or to the floor, was not met with trepidation like before. Some part of my mind had connected these acts, his viciousness, to pleasure, even if it were to be a long time in appearing, even when it would not be in the same scene as what was happening to me now.  
  
“How can you tell when it happens?” James released Richard’s ball gag to allow an answer. Richard coughed and wiped his chin on his shoulder. He squinted at me. James had left me, my chin on the floor, palms pressed to the wood and fingers splayed on either side of my head, my ass up, bruised and welted.  
  
“She spreads her legs instead of trying to close them.”  
  
“What if she’s merely trying to do it to please me?” James asked.  
  
“She keeps her eyes open, too.”  
  
“Does she? Very good, Richard. Anything else?”  
  
“She doesn’t make as much noise as when she doesn’t like it, when she’s scared or in pain.”  
  
“I’ve noticed that, as well.”  
  
I looked up at them, eyes rolling painfully from my position on the floor, and blushed at the scrutiny.  
  
James gagged Richard again.

“I had to learn all this with you as well, you know,” James said to him. Richard echoed my embarrassment by lowering his eyes. “You would just try to endure whatever was happening like you were a stone in the rain.” James lifted Richard’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. “Where would we be if I hadn’t broken you of that?”  
  
Our remaining days together were a blur of pleasure and pain, strolls down to the beach and late dinners and very late mornings. I awoke on the day they were to return to London early however, much like the first morning in this bed when I had almost slipped away before the sun was over the horizon. Richard was sleeping peacefully, his forehead pressed against my back, his knees curled behind mine, his body sweating slightly, cooling us under the thin sheet. He was healing rapidly, his bruises faded, a few stripes still red across his skin, but his wife, he told me, would be away for another week and by then he’d have ample excuses because of work or play at home to account for anything she might notice. He hinted he kept her otherwise occupied from going over his body with a fine toothed comb, and I had felt a curious pang when it truly registered he was not always with James, and therefore would not always be with me. I brushed it aside quickly. I adored him, and that meant who I adored was a married man, the things I loved about him had been honed by a past I didn’t exist in and that I could not change, and would not, because then he wouldn’t be the Richard I knew.  
  
The door to our little room was pushed wider. James was silhouetted in its frame, and I watched him watch us for a moment before I lifted my head, letting him know I was awake. He held his hand out to me and I slid out of bed and to him, taking his warm fingers in mine. He drew me out of the room until we were standing in the middle of the beach house. The light shimmering between silvery white clouds hanging low over the waves and the ocean cast a greenish tint over us, and the clean scent of rain was in the air.  
  
“You will come?” James said, his words quiet and concerned.  
  
I nodded.  
  
“I’ve given you many opportunities to leave. I’ve even tried to drive you away.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I said I’ll not make a fuss if you decide to come back here, but, Tara, I don’t know if I’ll just let you go as easily as all that. I don’t mean I’ll lock you up,” he laughed a little nervously. “Just, I’ll want to know why, and if there’s anything that can be done to change your mind.”  
  
“We’ll work it out,” I said. I hugged him suddenly, before he could step back. I held him tightly, and after a moment his arms came up around me. He spoke again, his hand moving up my back to my hair, pressing my head into his chest, and I delighted in the sound of his voice echoing in his body before I realised what he’d said.  
  
“You want me to leave? Now?” I said, pushing against him to look up.  
  
“We’ve a few things to do before, and very little time and Richard has a terrible habit of digging his heels in when we’re pressed for time. He won’t want to leave you—” James cut himself off. “Please, princess, it will be easier on all of us. I’ll tell him it’s my fault, and that you wanted to say goodbye.”  
  
“Alright, James,” I said.

James gripped my shoulders tightly. “I’m not trying to hurt you. Him, maybe, but that’s what I do. Honestly, this is harder than I thought it would be, leaving you. You might change your mind—”  
  
“James, I won’t. I want to come.”  
  
He smiled at that. “Then go, for me, Tara. I will see you soon. There’s a taxi waiting to take you home. Go get some clothes on, I’ll put the bags in the car for you.”  
  
I walked away from him, numb. Clothes weren’t even looked at before I slipped into them, luckily I managed to get my hands on a simple dress on the first try. I pulled my bed-messed hair into a ponytail and rubbed sleep from my eyes before walking through the beach house one last time. I paused in front of the door to the room Richard was still sleeping in, wanting to see him, but James’ fingers encircling my wrist and pulling me gently away kept me from him. He stopped just inside the front door and raised my hand to his face, kissing the back of it, and then leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.  
  
“I’ll be waiting, Tara.”


	4. Chapter 4

_"Perfect," he laughed,_  
_"'Cause your other half has got himself a Devil's access-_  
_Welcome to England,"_  
_he said, "Welcome to my world…"_

 

 

The week didn't matter. It seemed automatic and the process smooth, as if it had been planned months in advance. He gave me several thousand dollars to bank, and promised to fully support my needs so I would have a cushion to come home to, should I decide to, which would easily land me an apartment to replace the one I vacated with expense. I had a few bits of furniture and books and a dozen boxes of personal relics tinned in and automatic payments set up for storage, and my life could be back like a pop-up book. The corner piece was work, but I had six months of articles in contract and my editor didn't care where I was when they were written.  
  
The flight was measured by each song in my headphones, concentrated upon intently so as not to note the passage of time or distance or paint fears of the future. I read, napped once for an hour, replayed my favourite album twice, and held my breath as the tires shrieked and bounced. It seemed there was a clear path always open to me as I moved through the midnight crowd, even the fog swirled away from me once I was through the lobby doors.

The taxi was waiting for me as promised. The driver called me by name and loaded my bags and was mostly quiet while driving and I smiled that James would consider my comfort here as well. I stared out the window as this strange new city drifted by, bathed in gold. Light seemed to emanate from the wet streets and stream from the windows of the noble structures, never ending, blazing on both sides and from below, regurgitated from street lamps above. It seemed like a desperate mimicry of the sun. The cab maneuvered us away from shops and busy streets finally and the light dimmed, becoming a glow behind higher ground as we slipped across a bridge over the Thames and down through narrow streets crowded with homes, and I realised I'd been a little nervous I'd be stuck in the middle of the city. The house the taxi stopped at wasn't secluded by any means, but the front was overgrown with bushes and little trees, the windows nearly obscured. It was brick, dimly lit and had a garage attached, and I loved it instantly, feeling James in every detail.  
  
The driver hurried out and opened my door before going to the house and knocking. I pretended to have trouble gathering my handbags and ignored the front door opening. I heard footsteps come towards me and the cabbie went to the trunk for my bags and I finally slid out of the car and looked up. James' face was hidden in shadow, but his voice gave me all the welcome I needed.  
  
"Finally," he breathed. He carefully took my bags from my hands and followed the driver through the gate to the red front door, where he was depositing my luggage. I waited silently as James thanked him and sent him on his way, tipped, and I held the door open for him. When the last bag was in, I closed the door behind me and stepped to him, needing it to feel real, finally. He returned my embrace but was quick to break free. He showed me to the bathroom so I could wash away traveling. It was recently cleaned and otherwise unremarkable except for the huge claw foot bathtub.  
  
When I emerged I could hear kitchen noises from the back of the house and he called out to offer me pie. I happily accepted, but took my time finding him, surveying. Things were explicitly neat, except for where they weren't. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of a waterfall. A tidy stream of things on a shelf or table inevitably ended in a froth made of up of auto parts and machine bits on newspaper, or a layered spray of writing paper and books and magazines. There was the sweet smell of incense recently burned, the floor was swept and I spotted a black and white cat glowering at me from a small chair covered in blankets near a window. A piano took up a large portion of corner nook. The kitchen was hidden in the back of the house. He motioned for me to sit when I found him and he sat across from me in his fifty year old kitchen, complete with a funny round refrigerator and matching chrome and vinyl table set, pushed against the wall to save room and seat three.  
  
The sugar and warm tea refreshed me, but I didn't push or expect conversation. I let him watch me because it seemed to please him. Under the white light of a hanging lamp I noticed a few threads of silver in his hair, tinsel lost in the dark mass framing his deceptively kind face. There was a small smile on his lips, but there was something chaotic behind his eyes. It was not being stared at that became unsettling, it was a subtle feeling my mere presence was stoking some kind of explosion in him and the only evidence of the heat building was the gleam in his strange cobalt eyes, the way they flickered with my every movement, and my own blood seemed to be drawn to the surface of my skin by their pull. He watched me as if memorizing me. Finally, he spoke.

"Welcome to England," he said. "Welcome to my world, my home, my life. My slave. You need to understand I brought you here to be my submissive. Physically, sexually, domestically, you are mine. I do not own your emotions, however. Your feelings are as valid and important as mine, and you will always be given the opportunity to express your concerns or fears or needs to me. We may however disagree on how to deal with your them, and here too you will defer to me. I will do my best to never mistreat you knowingly, neglect your physical and emotional needs, and to keep your welfare and happiness at the forefront of all I endeavor to do. That being said, I want you to realise I do my research. Do you understand?"  
  
"I know you won't hurt me," I said, putting my life in his hands.  
  
"Very well. Done?" He took my dishes. "That's Fusker." The cat had appeared in the other chair at the table, and blinked disdainfully at me. "He's a gift from Richard's wife."  
  
My stomach dropped, then tried to flutter back into my throat at his name. Images and memories flooded my brain and became confused, blurring together until I couldn't tell the real from my fantasies. I stared down at the cat

"Richard..?" I asked weakly. I was falling asleep with my eyes open, slipping into a dream. I felt light headed and James seem to be moving away from me, even though his feet never shifted. He watched me as if waiting for something, then he pulled my part of the room towards himself.  
  
"Richard cannot be what you are to me. But you, so beautiful, will make his very existence, his every day, more painful, more challenging, than I ever have. You own a part of him I do not, and you have my respect for that. But because I now own you, I own whatever is yours and will use you to manipulate him. I don't think you'll be leaving here, this house, until you are better trained, of course."  
  
"Trained?" I felt the word more than I heard myself say it, watching the baleful cat judge me.  
  
"It has already begun."  
  
He drew me up, seeming to know my knees were weak, and led me by the elbow to his bedroom. I tried to get an impression, but the bed was all I could focus on. James' hands moved deftly about my body, flicking away clothing until I was naked. I closed my eyes in his shadow, swaying.

"Tara, my pet. My gift. I have drugged you. I will from time to time, when I want to practice something new, perhaps. Now, it is because you are new and I know I will disgrace myself many times until I am used to your beauty." He tilted my face up, but he was just a smear of colour to my unfocused eyes. I felt lethargic. My body seemed to float and react to James' touch with its own will. He was a dark heat I felt everywhere on my body. I tried to see him, failed, didn't care. I moaned as he touched my naked breasts with his palms and I let my head fall back, closing my eyes, giving into the blackness.  
  
I awoke to the exquisite sensation of James withdrawing a slender plug from my ass, which he'd apparently inserted in his night of using my body. I wanted to move, to cry out, but before I could his thick, veiny shaft replaced the plug that had held me open all night. The first indication I was awake was my groan as he slid in.  
  
"Oh, my little pet is coherent," he growled. "The things you agreed to last night—Perfect!" he laughed. "I remember everything, I even took notes. You impress me with your filthy mind, how much you want to be used and hurt."

I was pressed flat beneath him, hardly able to breathe, face down in his feather bed. He maneuvered us both up on our knees slightly, spreading my ass cheeks wide so he could slip the last inches inside me. I whimpered, but had no defense to his words or body. Whatever I had said, he had not rejected me.  
  
"I like your idea of starting you at the bottom the best. You will not hear your name again until you've earned the right. I decide when you eat, drink, shit and piss. You won't be eating anything but my come for the next three days. You sleep when and where I want, with the help of drugs if necessary, and your body is at my disposal to use in anyway I see fit. If you endure your training, conditioning and punishments well you can earn your rights back, to an extent. Right now, you're nothing more than a versatile object. I can breed you, hurt you, whore you out, shit and piss on you—or in you."  
  
I tried to arch up, to push him away, or at least turn to plead with him with my eyes as I registered finally there was a rubber coated bar in my mouth attached to a harness around my head, but he kept me pinned and out of sight. His breathing slowed and stalled for a moment and all I could feel was his pulse thudding through me. Then I felt his hot morning piss flow into my guts. It snaked like melted wax through my belly. I tried not to fight it; I knew I would be punished for spilling. He pissed into my body for almost twenty seconds and I held still as he pulled his softening prick from me. He replaced the plug, pushing it in firmly until it was seated and sealed tight, and then gave himself a cursory wipe taken from a small box on his nightstand. He lay down beside me and yawned lazily. His urine leaked deeper into my guts and they cramped slightly.  
  
"You will stay on your hands and knees at all times, unless I say otherwise. Understood?"  
  
I nodded, drooling, feeling achingly full and barely able to focus on his words. He closed his eyes. My belly twisted inside with the pressure of his water and my own needs became apparent as I broke into a cold sweat waiting for his direction and fearing he'd gone back to sleep. I tried to recall the night before to distract myself, but found it disorientingly hard. I felt a small pang that my first night should be a blur, but I realised whatever I had said or done or suggested, however vulgar or depraved or degraded I might have been, I was still in his bed. There would be more nights to make memories of.  
  
He finally opened his eyes. "You may take the plug out only when seated over the privy, which you will crawl to—I will not remind you of that again. As you crawl, notice anything you will be cleaning later. Don't worry, I won't exhaust you, I just want you to become familiar with your new home."  
  
That was the only thing he ever lied to me about; I was completely exhausted in just a few hours. Unused to crawling on all fours, my knees became agonisingly sore and my neck ached from looking up at him and simply trying to keep my head from hanging as I followed him around the house while he went about his normal routine after sleeping for another hour. I had tried to crawl back into bed with him once I had relieved myself of the double burden and he had roughly shoved me back to the floor without a word. I crouched there and let my mind wander, vaguely noting how aroused I was already. Not just ready for sex, but stimulated everywhere. I wanted to learn, I wanted to please him, I was almost trembling with eagerness for him to use me, wondering what he wanted from me. I tried my best to observe what he did to make himself comfortable, and so wanted my humanity back to better serve him, but I knew he would not relinquish it easily.  
  
James filled up a large glass bowl with water and placed it on the floor in the kitchen.

"Drink at leisure, my pet, but you must ask to relieve yourself. Pets don't use the roll so you'll be wiping piss with your hand and licking it clean."

I stared at him in disbelief, but didn't protest. He smiled. "Very good."

He walked away from me and I hurried to follow, but he met me halfway back with a gag in his hand. The O ring gaping my mouth open and leaving my tongue and throat exposed was strangely the first thing that made me truly feel like an object. I hated the way having my mouth pried open when I had to swallow produced a gagging sound from my throat and when I caught sight of myself in the bottom of a mirror, my face looked stretched and ugly. I had not been allowed to make myself presentable in the morning and my hair was tangled and there was still traces of makeup around my eyes and I desperately wanted to hide, but James snapped his fingers and I raised myself up on my knees in front of him, eyes lowered. It was the last mistake which resulted in him cupping first my right breast in one hand and slapping it with the other five times, then the left.  
  
"You will keep your eyes on me at all times. If I snap at you," he clicked his long fingers in front of my face, "your only purpose in the world is to look at me. Even while doing what I want, you will focus on me at all times. Every time I have to correct you, the amount of pain increases. I want you to remember this.” He snapped again. "Though I don't see letting you out of the house for a long time, and definitely not anywhere I'll have to explain you, you must never show familiarity or affection with Richard in public. Should we see him, you will remember this training and keep yourself focused on me." He tilted his head, gauging my reaction. "We're just going to make sure you're not near him, I think. He is already well trained. I often wonder if anyone notices he looks at the ground when I speak at work. You may be harder to train." I gulped loudly and blinked at him. He didn't smile this time, only stepped closer and unbuttoned his pants. "Breakfast."  
  
When I threw up his come in the evening of the second day and pissed myself at the same time, my body rebelling, never having fasted for more than half a day, he finally allowed me to bathe as I had not been able to do more than push it out of my mouth with my tongue to keep from choking. The posture collar locked to the wall preventing me from leaning over. He didn't smoke cigarettes and ate a fair amount of fresh vegetables and fruit; his ejaculate hadn't tasted offensive to me at all up until that moment. He'd made me hold it my mouth without spilling as he attached clothespins to my nipples and clitoris, informing me I was going to begin the desensitivity training. The pinching wasn't severe, I knew it wasn't, but my body was stressed and I was mentally exhausted and after the couple of minutes he took to secure the clips to my body and finally instructed me to swallow, I felt like just the opposite was happening. I slipped into a heightened state; I could feel the grain of the wooden clips on my skin and I worried inanely I was going to get splinters in my tits, and the taste and smell of the come in my mouth as I breathed raggedly around it seemed so foreign and disgusting and the furthest thing from actual food I was craving terribly, when I swallowed it immediately came back up. James stepped back, not offering me any help and watched me with an expression I wanted to hate him for and when he actually laughed I began to cry. I couldn't move. Not only was my collar attached to the wall as I crouched, arms secured behind my back, palms together, he'd put a rope around my corset and lashed that to the wall. As my stomach muscles heaved, I felt myself urinating as well. It sprayed from between my spread legs and James moved farther back.

I closed my eyes, unable to bear the amusement on his face. The cold shower was the worst thing I could have imagined and I fought him wholeheartedly for the first time. We were both panting and soaked by the time I gave up, too weak despite my determination to be warm. I settled on curling into a ball, arms around my knees, teeth chattering, while he washed me.  
  
Other than using my ass in the morning to piss in, he didn't attempt sex with me after that, even orally. He teased me constantly, however. Masturbating in front of me, ostensibly so I could learn how he liked to be manipulated, as if I would be unable to please him without this instruction as well. I began to doubt he wanted me, and at first I withdrew, trying to hide my interest, control my breathing, keep my expression neutral. That was when he bent me over his knee and worked his hands over my pussy and ass until there was no hiding how turned on I was. I was wet, dripping in his palm, hiding my face in embarrassment. When he spanked me instead of fucking me, it was astonishing how much I enjoyed it. I imagined each blow was a precursor to his cock entering me. I found I was able to withstand much more pain when I was aroused to this degree. But James didn't give in. When he grew tired of spanking me, he pushed me onto the floor, pointed to the thick rug by the couch and I crawled to it. Curling up at his feet as he flipped through a car magazine, I wept. Quietly, but I could not stop it. It was the only release I was capable of. For several days this was the routine; James would drive me to the brink of orgasm, then switch gears and spank me, sometimes choking me, pinning me to the floor by my collar as he slapped my breasts carefully, concisely, and then left me there, trembling and hating myself for being unable to control my desire, for wanting him to fuck me even when I was angry because I knew he would not.  
  
I finally realised, after the fifth day, the one thing I hadn't done was beg. To plead with him, to strip away any pride I had left and let him know without a doubt I wanted him—needed him. To prove to him I was his, that I wanted to be his, no matter what he did to me, how he hurt me or if I felt he was neglecting me. Actually, I concluded, it was the communication that was most important. He had told me so, that my feelings were valid. He was trying to prove to me all I had to do was ask, that I wasn't just to let him do whatever he pleased and no matter my feelings. I felt abashed it had taken me so long to understand. It was also frustrating just how hard it was for me to actually ask for it.  
  
It was easy to care for him, however. He was wonderfully simple in his domestic desires. He liked things clean, unless it meant me touching his carefully constructed piles of apparently useful-to-him papers and bits and tools, which was most of the mess. His cat was a nuisance; shedding everywhere and shredding newspapers James left on the floor, dragging in little corpses of wild creatures and leaving them to desiccate under a corner table or the couch, or barfing up ones it decided to eat, then decided otherwise. He was mean and I learned to avoid him after the first few ill fated attempts at petting him.  
  
I learned to do as much as I could when James left the house in terms of cleaning or making preparations for his comfort, though this did nothing to lessen his coldness or cruelty towards me. The food I was allowed was meager handfuls tossed on the floor by his hand, and I begged for this first. He ignored me, until I became angry, starving and weakly fighting back when he tried to tie me to my bed in a little room off the main room, an office I suppose it was meant to be, but it barely fit a twin bed and a dresser on one side and a small table pushed under a high window at the back. I screamed at him, told he was being horrible to me, and then I cried, apologising between sobs, it’s just that I was so hungry it was making me confused and slow and I wanted to be strong and coherent to do what he wanted me to do.  
  
“What will you do if I keep on this way, giving you scraps and handfuls?”  
  
I sniffed and tried to wipe my tears against my shoulder, but the high collar refused me this motion.

“Why, though? Haven’t I been good?”

When he slapped me for questioning him instead of answering and stood to leave, I threw myself against my restraints.

“Wait, please! I’m sorry! I… It will go away, I’ll get used to it. Just tell me I’m good? I have been doing what you want me to, haven’t I?”  
  
“If I say you’ve been good, then you won’t get any better, will you now? You’ll just plateau off here. I want you to do your best! Besides, right now you are at your worst, aren’t you? Weak, confused, angry, starving, hating me. I wanted to see this, too. Oh, didn’t you realise that? And she looks embarrassed!”

He laughed at me and I began to cry again.

“I wanted to see the brat inside the princess, and here she is, being needy and questioning her King.”  
  
“No! I—”  
  
He slapped me again, hard, knocking me back onto the bed. “Telling me I am wrong, are you?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. I was bewildered, utterly at a loss as how to move forward. He snapped his fingers suddenly and I looked at him through the blur of tears.  
  
“Good girl. Just think of yourself as a dog. If you do what your place in the pack dictates, your reward will be not being punished. When I am happy, I will allow you to eat and play.”  
  
It was another week before a slow change started. I didn’t notice it at first, my attention completely in the present, not thinking there was a pattern to what was happening. James would have a selection of things set out and would call me to attention with a snap. Naked, hungry, bruised, I would be asked to pick between choices of what to eat, where to go, what he should wear, where something belonged. Occasionally, I got the answer wrong somehow and was taken over his knee and thrashed across my back, ass, and thighs, or bent back across a chair as he tormented my nipples until I was begging him to stop, and the whole time he would be silent, leaving me to piece together how I gotten the answer wrong. Some things were linked to the day of the week, or to the weather or simply his mood at the time, and after a few more days, I was getting far more guesses right than wrong.

I knew I had made progress the day he made pancakes for us and served mine on the table. On a plate! Though there were no utensils and my hands were cuffed to my collar, I still felt thrilled to be sitting up to eat, even if my face and breasts were covered in syrup by the time I was finished with my pancake. He watched me lick my lips and the table clean before taking me to the bathtub and using his hot piss to rinse away most of the stickiness before letting me stand and wash myself properly. The next meal, that evening, was on the table again, but now the excitement was lessened and he took note of it.  
  
“Not used to being on a seat now, are you?”  
  
“I think I like being on the floor better. But I wish I could use my hands, or… You would feed me. Unless you want me at the table?”  
  
“Come here,” he said softly, and pointed to the floor at his side. I was to take almost every meal there, sitting at his feet, from then on. He brought home a thick mat meant to be knelt on while gardening the next day to save my knees from the hard floor, and kept it leaned against the wall under the table, to stop Fusker from sleeping on it.  
  
He came to me one morning with clothing; a pair of jeans and a tee shirt with a zippered, thin sweatshirt to go over it. I put them on, feeling awkward and confined after nearly a month of nakedness. He led me into the backyard and showed me a small patch of rocky ground. Handing me a few packets of rattling seeds, he said, “I thought you’d like to have a little garden? Though the plant in your apartment doesn’t bode well for their survival.”  
  
I wrinkled my nose at him, then grinned. This new freedom was a wonderful reward, and I knew I’d pleased him, and the game of choice had proved to him I truly wanted to take care of him, that I wanted to anticipate his needs.

The seeds were for radishes and turnips, things that would grow well in September and would be ready for harvest by November, or would make it through the winter to spring. He watched me scurry around and inventory the diminutive space, finding a place to start a small compost, and he brought me a trowel, a faint smile in his eyes. I fell to my knees and dug at the rocks, starting a pile off to the side. He left for a moment and returned with a pair of gloves from his garage, too big for me and smelling of motor oil.  
  
“We’ll get you a better pair soon. I’ll be inside.”  
  
I worked until my back ached, but I ignored it. My mind was overflowing with ideas and plans for the little space; where flowers might be coaxed to life, herbs on one side of the tree, the vegetables on the other. I could hang tomatoes and berries, and if I tested the soil, perhaps blueberries or raspberries would make it.  
  
“English herbs and roots are all I’ll end up with,” I murmured to myself.  
  
"A little cliche, isn't it?" he commented.

I looked up and realised it was almost dark; hours had passed since he had let me outside. I stood, knees aching, and stretched before replying,

"It’s not a cliche when herbs are the only thing that will grow well in this soil," I replied, adding another fist sized rock to the border pile.  
  
"Hmm," he said. "Let me get that large stone out for you. Tea and pie?"  
  
I stumbled just a little. Was he going to drug me again? James lifted an eyebrow and I turned and left him kneeling by the house. I put my clothes on the chair just inside the door and went to the kitchen, and I had just pulled the tea bags from the cups when I heard him come inside. He rattled around in his room before I saw him, and when I did, he had a belt in his hands. I went to my knees automatically, but he motioned me to stand so he could fasten the wide leather band tightly around my midriff. The belt had cuffs attached to either side, and these he secured my wrists into. It was extremely effective at keeping me from protecting myself at all. He pushed me back down on my knees and in this position I was level with what he was drew out of his jacket pocket. I looked up at him, confused.  
  
"Sit."  
  
I scooted onto my butt, and he forced me to scuttle backwards by pushing me with his shoe until I was against the wall. He squatted in front of me.  
  
"I know your cunt has been a little lonely of late. I brought it some friends." He held the spice jar up to my face. It was about an inch in diameter, four inches long, cleaned of its label and previous contents. It now contained bugs. Three large, black, shiny beetles, a millipede and a large red centipede. They all seemed rather unhappy about their new environment and having to share, and were variously attacking one another and scrabbling about. I shuddered, and stared at him. He pushed my knees apart, shook the jar once to make the creatures inside even more agitated, and brought it down between my legs. I snapped my knees together and shook my head at him. His hand snaked forward to my throat. He began to squeeze and press and in moments I was seeing stars, blackness invading the edges of my vision, and my body relaxed on its own, legs falling open. My hands flapped uselessly at my sides for a moment, but even that didn't last. When the pressure relented and I came fully to my senses, it was too late. He had pushed the jar, bottom first, into my body.  
  
"No!" I shrieked, trying to writhe away, but his hand went to my throat again, his strong grip cutting off the rest of my cries while he patiently and firmly pushed on the jar. I blacked out once more, suddenly and fully this time. When I came to, seconds later, it was to the feeling of the lid of the jar bumping past my pubic bone and then my cunt closed around it. He had pushed it completely inside me. He held it there with two fingers, still pushing, causing it to slide farther into me as he produced a handful of clothespins from his pocket. Pinching my pussy lips closed, he used two of them to secure the jar inside me. He clipped another two, stacked on top of each other, to my clitoris, and then he pulled away. I glared up at him, shaking and horrified.  
  
"I wouldn't squirm about too much. I can't remember if I got the lid good and tight or not. The centipede might slip out. I imagine that would hurt, a bite inside like that. Get on your knees."  
  
I couldn't help whimpering as I did so. I could feel the bugs tapping inside of me. His fingers found my tongue again and caressed it.  
  
"This is the best I've ever had. I know you love to suck cock. Do you like mine?"

I nodded.

"Show me how much."  
  
His beautiful, silken cock slid along my lips. I sucked it in greedily, rubbing my tongue around the tip and under the head to the soft spot that made him moan. He gathered my hair at the side of my head, holding me still, thrusting slowly at first, but the force and speed increased until my breathing was reduced to steady gasps, my tongue stuck out to open my throat more. I kept my eyes up, open wide, which I knew he liked and wanted. I kept my thighs together, trying not to feel the horrible tickling sensation of the angry insects trapped inside of me. I focused on pleasing James, on the feel of his dick filling my mouth, the smell of his body, the touch of his long fingers on my face. Soon, thick saliva was dripping from my open mouth, allowing nearly all of his thick, curving length to slide down my throat. He spread his legs for better balance and pulled my head all the way onto his body, sealing my lips to the base of his cock, fucking my pained throat in short movements. I was sure he was going to come, but at the last second he stepped back, gasping himself at the audible pop his cock made leaving my mouth. I kept my eyes on him, my vision blurry from tears I couldn't help. His cock hung just inches from my face, obscenely horse-like, curving and thick and heavy. I broke at that moment, giving him the pleas he had been waiting for.  
  
"Please fuck me. I want it so much! I want you! Please put your big cock inside me. I will do anything for you, please, please, put it in me!" I whined loudly and rolled my hips. "I don't want this in me! I just want you. No!” I wailed as he tugged his jeans closed around his cock. He smiled at me, all sharp teeth. His hand tightened in my hair and he pulled me up until I was standing, and dragged me towards the bathroom. He scooped me up and set me on my knees inside the cavernous tub.  
  
"It's hard for you to be my little slut, isn't it?"

I nodded, heat coming to my cheeks.

"Open your mouth."

He pulled at his pants as I obeyed, quivering. I knew better than to flinch as his piss hit my face and poured up my nose before the stream found my mouth.

"Don't swallow, just hold it there. All of it!"

I opened as wide as I could. I did swallow once, reflexively, as I felt it spill over my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes shut to keep from gagging. I felt the flow move down my body, across my tits and belly and he finally emptied himself on my clamped pussy.

"Put your tongue out," he said. When I did, his fingers pinched the tip as it surfaced from the piss pooled in my mouth and when he pulled on it I swallowed more at the movement. He ignored my gurgling and caressed my tongue.

"How much more would you take from me? I honestly don't know if the things I have thought of for you to prove yourself to me would leave room for me to consider you still human afterwards." His fingers splashed and dipped idly in the liquid gag, and I opened my eyes when he was silent for several seconds. "I think even having said that, you would still endure anything I subjected you to, wouldn't you?"

I blinked, wishing I could tell him he was right. But he knew.

"You belong to me. I understand your needs now. I see the things you are capable of, what drives you, and your devotion to me. I know I can use you to my advantage, for my comfort and amusement. And I believe you want me to. You have been very good. Do you still want this life?"

I blinked again, my eyes stinging with tears at the compliment.

"Would you like me to expose you to the world like this? As long as I'm protecting you, right? As long as I let you have this life, and give you what you want most…validation, isn't it? You know I want you to be who you are without being ashamed. I want you to live like this; it is my pleasure. You are beautiful. Will you live for me?" His hands went to my face and he tilted my head down and his piss poured out of my mouth and into my lap but I didn't hesitate to answer.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
The clips came off my slippery cunt and through the piercing pain I felt the hateful jar slide out of me and into his hand, and the skittering and trembling ceased. Still bound to my waist by my wrists, I accepted the cold shower without struggle.  
  
The flogger warmed me back up as he batted it against my pussy. I was aroused, dripping, the fear and revulsion at the bugs he had forced inside me nothing compared to how I felt under his command, how much I wanted to please him. He kept up a constant, light tapping against the clothespins still attached to my clit until I was moaning, bent over his lap, raising my hips up to meet the blows, longing for an orgasm. But he would not relent in his denial. When I spread my legs to feel more sensation, the blows became harder, snapping down in rapid succession until I was squirming to get away, gasping and crying out in pain. The clips were starting to pinch terribly by the time he dumped me from his lap. He removed them without a word, not even stopping to watch as I curled around myself and let out a muffled scream at the sensation of blood flushing through the crushed flesh. He picked me up and carried me to my little room, leaving the waist belt on. He brushed my hair back from my face, a sweet gesture that was ruined by the slaps to my cheeks that followed. Only when I went still, training taking control, and didn't flinch away from his hand, did he relent, covering me in the quilt and flicking the lights off on his way out of the room. He stopped, door half closed in his hand, and said, "I have one last trial for you, princess. You will know it when you see it, I trust."  
  
What I saw was Richard. James kept me in my room until late in the afternoon, and when I emerged, naked, disheveled, my bladder full, Richard was swaying in the middle of the living room, blindfolded. He was listening for me, though, and raised his head when he heard me gasp happily at the sight of him. He might have smiled, but it was malformed by the O-ring gag strapped in his mouth. James had settled himself on the couch and was looking with mild expectation at me. I felt everything fall into place. My actions would seal us together, concrete my place in this life, would prove to James my obedience and allegiance to him, and would mark me as his slave. I had done so many things to this point that had been difficult. This was to be the most difficult, and I had to do it carefully.  
  
I took a deep breath to steady myself and looked back at Richard. Between us there was a table, bare of its usual bits and papers. In their place was a lighter, a candle and a small wand. It was about as long as my hand and had a small disk-shaped knob on the end. I knew instinctively what it was for, and the knowledge terrified me. I didn’t know James possessed one of these, and I dreaded using it on Richard. I hated being shocked by even static cling, but I knew Richard hated fire, so I decided to start with the little wand first. When I took a step forward, Richard’s hands twitched at his sides and I noticed then he wasn’t bound at all. I inventoried the table again. There was nothing there to help me control him should he struggle but I saw that his blindfold was his own fleece scarf. James leaned back on the couch and cross his ankle over his knee, waiting.  
  
I closed in on Richard, shutting my eyes for a brief moment as the scent of his body reached me and brought back memories. I shivered as I touched him, and his head tilted to the side slightly, his throat working, and I wanted to kiss him there though I knew that would be the wrong thing to do. I unbuttoned his shirt first and set it, half folded, on the table. His pants came down next, along with his briefs, and he stepped out of them obligingly. I watched him for a moment, noting that there were no marks on his body identifiable as something James had left, though there were a few small greenish bruises on his ribs and thighs. He shifted on his feet and absently crossed his left hand over his belly to lightly hold his right wrist, his chin still up and head back. A little tremor washed over him and I saw gooseflesh ripple his chest, and I picked up the little wand. There was a small vibration in it as I flicked it on. Putting a hand to the back of his neck, I tried to hold him firmly as I stroked the disk part of the device over his chest. He gasped loudly and twisted away, almost out of my grasp.  
  
“Kneel,” I said, quietly, half hoping James wouldn’t hear me for some reason. Richard obeyed me, carefully lowering himself, but he flinched as the electricity jumped to his skin again. I gripped his hair and brought the wand up to his shoulders, running it down first one arm, then the next, then down his back. He hissed and arched, but it was when I brushed the wand up his back and to his jaw that one of his hands came up and pushed it away. Blind, he shoved it into my breast. The shock scared me, and hurt in way I had never felt before, as if every last inch of my skin was suddenly lifted, peeled away all at once. My eyes snapped shut and I jerked away so violently I dropped the wand, breaking it. I stumbled back a step and moaned.  
  
He pressed his hands against his chest and sank down, sitting on his heels. I bit my lip and looked at the broken device on the floor. James cleared his throat and Richard flinched at the sound. When I looked at him, James flicked his fingers at me to continue. I couldn’t have him fight me, not with what was left on the table, so with some reluctance at having to face Richard, I untied the scarf from over his eyes. He blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to adjust so he could see me. I kept my expression neutral but my heart was hammering. We were together again, the three of us, at last. I had nothing to fear anymore. Richard’s tongue flicked in his mouth and his hands came off his chest, reaching for me. I stepped back and he frowned, placing his palms on his thighs instead. I stood over him, giving myself a moment to calm my excitement, and plan.  
  
He grunted in surprise when I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him back up onto his knees. I wrapped the scarf under and around his thighs and pushed him back down before looping the scarf over his wrists and between them, securing his hands to his legs. I kicked the broken wand out of the way and it skidded under the couch. I wrinkled my nose, knowing I would have to go after it later and there was always the chance Fusker would be waiting to bat his claws at me from the darkness, or I’d find another half-chewed rodent with my fingers. The thought of my chores, my duties, my agreements and my training, steadied me. This was just another chore, and I wanted to please James with my execution of it more than anything. I pushed all other thoughts to the side, including the ones having to do with Richard’s terror of what I was about to do. I lighted the candle with my back to him, but he knew the sound and made a small, frightened noise, and shook his head at me when I turned, flame in hand. I ignored him, putting a hand to the back of his head and pushing it down. The first drops of wax were a minute or so in falling, and in that time Richard began to shake and sweat. I aimed for the small of his back and had to keep my hand on his head to prevent his arching up. The white, hot rivers were soon trickling over one another down his hips and buttocks. I moved up his back little by little, coating his spine until it was as if it were made of alabaster. He ruined the effect occasionally by twisting, cracking the coating of wax, but I repaired it patiently. When I neared his shoulders, James spoke.  
  
“Hold the candle closer to him. The wax will be hotter the closer it is when you pour it.”  
  
Richard moaned, and I felt little cool drops of his saliva on my toes, dripping from his open mouth. I lowered the candle until it was an inch or two from his skin and he whined but did not move, fear of being burned, of knocking the candle from my hand as he had the wand, paralyzing him. My hand on his head softened and slid down his neck to push the little strands of hair up, and I let the wax pool on his neck and pour over the sides of his throat and onto his thighs and hands. I would have to keep his scarf and iron the wax out of it.  
  
The candle was almost a nub, and Richard was coated from his neck to his toes by the time I blew it out, and I surprised myself by glancing back at the table, suddenly wishing there was a cane or the flogger there to remove the wax with. But I understood without being told that he was not to be marked, that this was the way it would almost always be. The violence done to him in Miami was a singular occurrence and from now on it would be a game of creative ways to hurt him without leaving a trace of it on his skin. But there was more to abuse than just his skin, and I remembered something else that had happened in the beach house. Pain was one way to abuse him, humiliation was another. And it was for both of us to endure. I was under no illusion that I was dominating Richard, only that I was doing as James wished, for his pleasure, and he took pleasure in the abasement of us both.  
  
I pushed Richard over onto his side, moderately careful he didn’t hit the ground too hard, and rolled him onto his back. The scarf slid up his legs a little, allowing him to lie almost flat and he complained wordlessly as the wax ripped from his skin in places. I squatted over him and he looked up at me worriedly. I had to look away to relax enough to piss on him, but once it started, I aimed as carefully as I could for his open mouth. He tried to turn his head and I had to stop the flow to grab his hair, pinning him down, kneeling over his head. He coughed, gurgled and finally swallowed my piss as it filled his mouth and I had to grip him tightly when some went up his nose and he fought to turn his head. He swallowed another mouthful before I was spent, relieved, though the floor, his face and hair and my legs were soaked. Automatically, I put my palm to my pussy and collected the moisture there and raised my hand to my mouth, licking it clean. I met Richard’s eyes as I repeated the movement. My hand was glistening. I had enjoyed punishing Richard more than I had been aware of, and the thought of pleasing James had made my pussy soaked. I lapped at my palm again, the taste of my urine and come interesting and exciting. I spread my pussy lips and dipped my fingers inside, pulling out strings of come, and I stuffed them into Richard’s mouth, wiping them clean on his tongue. I leaned down and kissed him without withdrawing my fingers, swirling digits and tongue around inside him. I loved the buttery smell of my piss on his face and his wet eyelashes fluttered, then widened, and I felt James’ hand in my tangled hair. He pulled me up and off of Richard and slung me to the floor beside him, on my back on the pissed puddled floor.

I finally got what I’d been begging him for last night. His cock was so hard and after so long of being without it, it hurt wonderfully as he pushed into my pussy. He held my legs up, together, over his shoulder and lifted me so I was on my shoulders, curled under him, and he fucked me. My piss-wet hair clung to my cheeks as I writhed. I felt split open, skewered by him, and I loved it. I loved having pleased him finally, having proven myself to him. This was my reward, and it was worth every bit of effort and pain that had lead to this point. When he spoke, it brought me to tears.  
  
“Tara,” he said, finally naming me again. “My princess. You were perfect.”  
  
My world narrowed to include only James above me. Richard was forgotten, the moments of doubt and homesickness vanished from memory, and I knew my place was here, with him, and he would protect me. He wanted me, he enjoyed me, he had given me challenges and pleasures beyond anything I had ever imagined, and I wanted always to be here, under his control.  
  
Everything took a turn for me once Richard was reintroduced into my life. James announced he was going to find out what we were most afraid of physically. We were not to hide anything from him, the punishment for that transgression was unspoken but ominous nonetheless. We both feared fire, though Richard was petrified by it. He teased Richard with it incessantly for several days until I made the mistake of asking for leniency, begging James to stop it. It was then we discovered another unknown condition. When one of us complained of the others’ treatment it became twice as bad for the complainer.  
  
A coarse rope was wound around my chest and between my breasts and then around them, again and again until they were burgeoning with blood and tightly bound, and then he tied the ends of the rope to Richard’s collar. My collar was leashed to the wall behind me, both our arms secured behind our backs. When James brought the lit candle in front of Richard’s face, he panicked, jerking back away from it, taking the slack of the rope tied to my breasts with it. It tightened, pinched, and soon my flesh was tearing.

When James grew bored waving the flame just inches from Richard’s terrified face, he put the candle between my teeth and revealed a new purchase; a replacement for the wand I had broken. This was stroked with agonising slowness up and down my back and Richard fought to back away from the flame I had almost no control over. It took all my effort to keep from dropping it on us, but I couldn’t help writhing and the movements brought the candle so close to Richard’s face and chest he finally let out a sob and threw his head back to avoid seeing the flame. James bounced the wand off my skin idly after that, simply waiting until the taper was almost a nub and licking at the tip of my nose before he blew it out and released us. We both collapsed when we were free, Richard still crying, only now it was ashamedly, because when James unwound the ropes from my body, my breasts were raw and bloody. Richard had pulled so hard in his fear the rough rope had dug deeply into my skin and now the base of both breasts were scraped and oozing.  
  
“I suppose endurance is the word for the day,” James mused. “If you had more, Richard, she wouldn’t be hurt as badly. Tara, if you had dealt with your hatred of being shocked, he might not have pulled so hard. Do try to save each other in the future.”  
  
That Richard also had a fear and fascination with water was something I was unaware of until I happened across him on the television. It was strange to see him, and I found myself vicariously nervous just watching him interact with people he didn’t know, to see him look into a camera and talk, to see him make facial expression I had never seen. I watched him, hugging my knees, frowning, absurdly wanting him to stop what he was doing and just be here with me now, though the show was a rerun from something earlier that summer, and he was even now off filming something that would be seen later in the winter. This was a strange little documentary series, and Richard had gone two days over a weekend without drinking water to report on the effects. James came out of the garage. He raised an eyebrow at the odd intensity with which I was watching the show, but then perched on the edge of the couch, wiping his oily hands on a rag.  
  
“Turn it up. I meant to watch this when it was on the first time. It was my idea, actually.”  
  
“What? Why? And was his shirt your idea, too?”  
  
James snickered. “It was. And, why not? A bit torturous, isn’t it? Going without water? It was to make up for the abundance he had of it before.”  
  
“Abundance?”  
  
James didn’t reply. Instead he went to my laptop while the segment finished. Eventually, my discomfort on Richard’s behalf abated, and I just watched him, and in the end, I felt sorry for all the people who interacted him who didn’t know him as I did, who couldn’t identify his little quirks; his temper, his impatience, his own nervousness, his amusement. These things were random, quick gestures or a flash in his eye, a lowered brow. But to me they were _him_.  
  
James sat down next to me and put the laptop on the table in front of us. A clip from their show was queued and he pushed play. He leaned back and as the image of Richard started talking, I heard the zipper of James' jeans go down.  
  
“No," he said, when I glanced his way. “Just watch the show. Watch him. Do you know his tells by now? Just point, but keep watching."  
  
My first gesture was only thirty seconds in.  
  
“He's hiding his hard-on like a school boy, isn't he?" James said. That his own was far from hidden was apparent by the motion I felt through the couch. “Tugs on his trousers and puts his arm down between his legs."  
  
“Did you know then?”  
  
“Oh, yes. He’d been squirming. Skip it back, see, I’m looking right at it!”  
  
I did, and he was. The other man, Jeremy, looked pleased with himself as well, I said. James agreed.  
  
“He adores coming up with things to try to kill Richard, actually. Doesn’t care what Richard gets out of it, though. Jeremy does it purely for his own entertainment.”  
  
A half a minute later, I motioned again.  
  
“Ah, rubs his face when he’s frightened…”  
  
“Closes his eyes, too,” I said.  
  
James made a gentle noise of pleasure and stretched his legs out, the only part of him I could see. Watching as Richard submerged himself and settled on the bottom of the pool, I felt James tense beside me.  
  
“Seeing him surrounded like that… And now watch, he panics and forgets his signals, has to be carried back to the surface.”  
  
Twenty seconds later and there were more signs of fear.  
  
“Look at his arm muscles clench, and how he grabs the wheel as if he can stop what’s going on. Then he gives up and puts his hands in his lap—you’ve seen him do that before, many times.”

I could hear the excitement in James’ voice, the edge to his words that often preceded the very fear Richard was demonstrating.

“And that little breath, that exhalation, and look how pale he is… It’s astonishing he can keep talking to the camera,” James said. “I doubt I would be able to with water rushing up around and inside the car like that. His eyes are huge!”

After that there was silence from James, and I watched, slightly horrified, as Richard sank to the bottom of a pool inside a shitty little car. He struggled to get out, his fingers splayed against the glass, the pressure of the water hurting his ears, and at one point he had to stop and take oxygen from a diver. Finally he got out once the car settled, and was helped to the top of the tank by another diver. He didn’t die, and had a brilliant gleam is eyes as he talked about the experience. And then he was put back in the car and dropped, challenged to get out before it sank. James grunted as the car slapped the surface of the water and shifted next to me. I felt his fingers against my lips and opened them automatically. His come dripped onto my tongue.  
  
“He really did wrench his arm getting out that last time,” James commented, opening his hand so I could clean it of semen, the taste of which mixed rather pleasantly with the motor oil still lingering in the creases of his palm. Then he laughed a little.

“That smile he has at the end, I never noticed it before. Like the one he had after the first time I wrapped my hands around his neck and lifted him against the wall. Let’s watch the one where he gets hit by lightning now.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Jets are revving_  
_Yes revving_  
_From a central source_  
_And this has power over me_

 

 

Life kept us apart at times; weeks where their jobs or Richard's family life would not allow for it. I assumed James would relish the break, that Richard was more exhausting to him than he let on, and for the first few days it seemed so. James played his piano, he would start or finish some project—but never one he and Richard were working on together, and there was always something torn to pieces in his garage of that sort—read quietly, or to me, voraciously. Poetry, mostly English Romantics, and I liked hearing about their variously short, sordid, or distinguished lives as much as I enjoyed their works. He would cook for me, and he would stop tormenting me, stop spanking or pinching, he would become more tender, feeding me from his fingers and even taking me for drives and for late night dinners. It was on one of these drives he explained, and even apologised to me in his way, for the harshness that had greeted me when I had arrived at his home.  
  
"It is essential, you understand? I needed you to trust me, to know I would take care of you and wouldn't become bored. I know you have fears, and I need to make us both comfortable. It's for Richard's security as well. He's like a naughty boy, only thinking about right this minute, never about how fast things change. His safety and security are priorities because if anything happened, we will all be affected. Our jobs, his family, our livelihoods. I needed to train you, my pet, so you never accidentally upset the balance here. Everything is working, and I wouldn't want you to feel any guilt if you unknowingly disrupted anything. Which you haven't. You've been absolutely wonderful and have been trying to please me."

I beamed at this, and squirmed in my seat, the plug in my ass pinching slightly as we rounded a corner.  
  
"I had to train you, and hide you, and I will continue to hide you for the most part. For now. You have been doing so well, but I just can't have anything happen. Unless... Can you promise me, princess, that you can control yourself around Richard, that you can keep face around him, around his wife if that were to happen?"  
  
"I..." I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying to imagine the situation. Imagine Richard with love in his eyes for a stranger to me, imagine him unable to touch me or kiss me. It was hard to just imagine us with our clothes on. "I don't know!" I had to admit, plaintively. James brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.  
  
"I know it's hard for you to be in new company, anyway. It's just simpler, so neither of us have to explain ourselves, don't you think? Mistakes are made, accidents happen, people slip up, and we can't do that now. So again, I am sorry for any overly harsh treatment you have endured, but I hope you better understand why it had to happen this way."  
  
James abruptly turned away from the city, heading west into the countryside. He pulled off the road onto a small gravel lane that wound back into a small copse of trees. The lane went nowhere. Perhaps there had been a homestead there at one point, but it was overgrown now with brush and slender trees, which obscured our car from the road as well. He stopped more because of the saplings growing up along the track were starting the thrum along the undercarriage of the Porsche.  
  
“Pull your skirt up,” he said.  
  
I did as he commanded. I was wet already, my thighs sticky as I spread them obediently for him. He popped my seat belt open.  
  
“Get on your hands and knees,” he pointed towards the floorboards. “Hands there, knees on the seat.”

I wiggled around clumsily, but I finally managed it. I felt him push against the plug in my ass, then three of his thick finger slipped into my pussy. I put my forehead against my hands and arched my back, exposing my whole cunt to him.  
  
“I was thinking of how shy you are,” he said, conversationally, twisting his fingers around inside of me. “How you don’t like to be in public, to have people looking at you. I have an idea I’d like to try. I want to take you the Commons in London in a full body leather outfit. High heeled boots, leather pants, a tight corset, full gloves, and a tight hood over your face, with just your eyes showing. I would love to watch you from a distance, follow you as you walked the paths past boys feeding pigeons and mothers in skirts pushing trams, old men smoking pipes. You would attract so much attention, but no one would really be able to see you. Only your eyes. Huge, terrified eyes staring out of this tight, black suit. You would be naked inside of it, your tight little ass full of thick plug, your nipples pinched by screw clamps, a ball gag in your mouth.”  
  
I was open mouthed and rocking back against his hand, the blood rushing down to my head making me dizzy and hot, as were his words, this threat.  
  
“Fuck, you’re so wet! You would do it if I wanted you to, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“Yes, James,” I whimpered. I would. If he took me into London right now and forced me out of the car, I would walk as far as I could get with my skirt around my hips, my full ass wiggling, my pussy swollen with pleasure and visible to everyone, if he wanted me to.  
  
“You love being threatened, I think,” he said approvingly. “All I have to do to get you to puddle in my palm is make you afraid!” He had worked his hand up to his knuckles inside me, four fingers stretching me painfully as he rotated his hand and tapped against the plug randomly. “I’m going to remember this little trick,” he mused to himself. I whimpered in pleasure and shame. He laughed.

“Dirty girl, you want to be humiliated and used, we’ve already established that! I wish Richard was here, I’d make you two fuck on the hood of the car.” I protested when he withdrew his hand. “No matter. Get up. If you can come three times before we get home, I won’t cane your pretty tits.”  
  
If Richard was something he needed rest from on occasion, I seemed to be easy to torture. He reminded me so much of his awful cat at times like this; unpredictable, mean and lazy. He would seem calm and look at me with such fondness, but if I got too close or too comfortable he would strike, biting me or pinching me viciously, gagging me for hours at a time while he simply slept. I had learned by now what he expected of me when he was away and what he wanted when he came home, and there were few variations of those needs, but I was punished if I could not anticipate them. He would often just hold me, tied and naked in his lap, and put weights on my nipples, on my tongue, drip wax on my thighs and pussy, fuck my mouth with a curved and knotted dildo until I was covered in drool and gagging and when he'd had enough he would put me in my room, hands and feet chained to the bed frame so I was not tempted to pleasure myself, and he would go to bed.  
  
Richard had been gone nearly two weeks, and when I was bringing us dinner, shuffling with careful steps because my ankles were bound together with a short chain, James' phone rang and I knew Richard was back because the agitation returned. He picked at his food and ignored me except to bind my hands behind me so I had to kneel and eat carefully off my plate without them.

When Richard appeared, James was on him instantly. Our water bill was always immensely high because Richard was filthy more often than not, the child James proclaimed him to be; always sweaty from running or biking or playing hard, with dirty nails and smudges on his cheeks, and James would usually strip him and force him into the shower. More than once he'd simply jerked off right there, with Richard naked and kneeling in the tub, closing his eyes as James' come splashed on his chest, flinching again when James' piss flowed over the same spot, and James would push him onto all fours, his fingers prying Richard open, his other hand clenched around the younger man's cock until Richard was fighting to get away, come dripping from him, over-stimulated. James always looked surprised at himself afterwards, that his need for Richard would make him so rash and disorganised. I thought it was adorable, though I never said so. James seemed to like Richard dirty at times, too, and more than once I knew they were fucking in the garage where they'd gone to work on something James was building, and I would peek in the door to see Richard bent over a workbench, James' grease blackened fingers leaving streaks on Richard's neck as he held him down and ground his hips into him, lifting him off his feet at times, the smell of motor oil and metal and sweat thick in the air.

I learned too all the creative ways James had come up with to torture Richard that wouldn't leave marks. The electricity wand was replaced and broken several times, and breathing games were carefully played out rituals that always left Richard sobbing and begging, clutching at James' wrists to keep his belt from tightening around his throat again even though Richard knew the bottom of his feet would see the leather beating against them because he couldn't take not being able to breathe any more. A torturous new game was implemented with me, too, where James would tease Richard into trembling arousal and allow him two minutes to fuck me before he would be pulled away and his cock iced, and then James would punish me in front of Richard. Richard's 'whipping-girl' he called me at these times.  
  
It was cruel, there was no denying it, but I grew used to it, accepting it as part of my duty, part of my life with James. It was something he needed of me, something I could give them both. I saw how it tormented Richard to see James beat me until I couldn't help screaming, how it made him so obedient, so complaint, willing to do anything James asked of him if it spared me at all. James was relentless and endlessly clever and seemed to know every last thing that would humiliate and hurt us. I was forced to drink Richard's piss many times, and he was commanded to pull the clothespins off my body when I begged them to be taken off, their bite having turned into a fiery burn all over my body, and Richard whispered I'm sorry when I cried as they were pulled away, the release more painful than the pinching. James liked to tie Richard into positions that made him cramp quickly, the ropes over his clothes so they never left marks, and he would leave Richard on the floor, wailing in pain as his muscles twisted while he tried to hurt me with canes and crops and belts so my cries would drown out Richard's.

After, James would let Richard comfort me, let him pet me and hold me as I whimpered in pain that Richard should have been enduring himself. Once, James brought home a short bullwhip and, after hiding Richard's hands away in leather pouches, I was made to stand with my hands against the wall. The first strike of the whip drew blood and I screamed, and it only got worse after that. I had to count each stroke, and each one broke skin, and James would only stop, he instructed us, when Richard managed to jerk himself off. With his hands hidden in seamed, awkward pouches, and James making sure Richard never looked away from my agony, I was nearing a hundred in my count before Richard finally came, crying out 'stop' to James even before his cock was finished gushing. I dropped to my knees as James backed away, letting Richard scramble to my side. Dimly, I was aware that James cast the whip across the room, and I never saw it again, but he apparently had what he wanted in Richard's reaction. He pulled me gently into his lap and hunched over me, babbling apologies.  
  
"So sorry, Tara. Should be me, I want it, but I can't. I hate it, I don't want you to hurt like this, please forgive me, please—"  
  
James jerked him away from me and was covering him in moments, buried in Richard's ass, his palm pressing Richard's face to the floor where he had to look at me still, bloody and shaking and wanting to trade places. I hated James in these moments the way a child hates their parent when punished, but James always comforted me when he'd shooed Richard away, out the door and back to his own life. James would pick me up and take care of me, wash me, tend to any injuries, telling me always how good I was, how perfect I was, how this was helping Richard, even if it was hard to see when it was happening. James brought me treats, presents, as well, especially after difficult sessions like with the bull whip. He left out expensive perfumes and lovely shoes for me, pretty lipstick and matching panty sets, sheer dresses I knew he wanted me to wear when I had particularly visible bruises and marks on my body. He bought me watercolours and expensive paper and easels when he found out I liked to draw and paint, and I was always surprised by how perfect the gifts seemed, how well he was growing to know me and what I might like when he hardly seemed to be paying attention at all.

And so it went, James manipulating us both into a sort of dependency on pain and arousal and love, and it quickly became so normal to me I had a hard time remembering I was ever anywhere else but here.


	6. Chapter 6

_we scream in cathedrals_  
_why can’t it be beautiful_  
_why does there gotta be a sacrifice_  
_just say yes_

 

 

It began with an article from a newspaper. I giggled, he asked what about and I read it to him as we drove through the hills.

"Yes, that was quite funny," he said and was silent for a while. Then, "Read me another." He turned away from home as he said it, angling us towards the hills. I read almost the whole paper to him and an hour wound away through the knolls and narrow lanes and finally my voice sounded rough.  
  
"I think I could have you read to me indefinitely. I've not enjoyed it so much since childhood," James said.  
  
"I'll do it more if you want? We could read a book this way. We'll have to have something for my throat though."  
  
He bought me slippery elm bark losenges. The kind opera singers use, he said. They were powdery and barely sweet and worked to sooth my vocal cords enough that on occasion, I read for almost three hours as we meandered the coastal roads. I loved being buffeted as he steered us. He had the softest touch to the gas and hardly pressed the break and he warned me of turns so I was never thrown off balance as I read to him. I scoured the library for books that would interest him. I found biographies of obscure people- inventors and artists and adventurers and that's when I found a wealth of books with locations of interest around London and the countryside. We filled our heads with odd facts and dates and whys and wheres and often he would stop the car and I would look up and we would be at one place or another I'd been reading about. When I suggested traveling at night to see some of the spookier places, I was surprised he agreed, but excited. I never dreamed I'd be able to explore this way, with such unique and intelligent company, too. James quickly became the friend I'd never been able to cultivate in my adult life. He had such a quick mind and never seemed bothered or bored by me. He said his job was juvenile and they acted like assholes, and having to subject himself and thus everyone watching the show to it made him genuinely stupider at times, and that my hungry mind saved his sanity.  
  
We were sitting at a dedicated site, a small rock bench hewn into an ancient hill, looking west towards the setting sun. I had been reading to him, but the light was fading and we watched the sun turn the sky the colours of Merlot and cobalt.  
  
"You've really enriched my life, do you know that?" He pushed splayed fingers through his unruly hair and peered almost bashfully at me. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I'm glad you trusted me enough to come here. I think I was becoming quite bored." He looked out over England, then down at his shoes. "Except for Richard, you know. But his life is his." He kicked a rock towards the pavement and it clattered down the steep hill and out of sight. "Thank you for sharing this with me."  
  
I responded by slipping my hand into his and squeezing gently. He squeezed back and smiled at me, the sun casting crimson into his eyes. I removed my touch after a moment, knowing James shared my aversion to certain sensations, and it was impossible to tell what would cause him to withdraw in haste. Even a loving caress sometimes felt like an intrusion, abrasive. That we shared this behavioral trait, this sensory overload, was discovered when James had awkwardly apologised for so often touching me in a dominant manner. He said it was, and had always been for him, hard to know when a touch was needed, and what kind was appropriate.  
  
"I feel the same way, if you can believe it," I assured him. It was Christmas and he was taking me to the remains of an early Christian church I had found as a side note in Haunted London. "I don't like being touched. It makes my skin hot, or feel raw." I frowned. "I can't help it. What?" I said, embarrassed by the way he was looking at me, as if I'd sprouted horns.  
  
"You really feel that way?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"I do, too. Sometimes, I want to snap peoples fingers after a moment. I'm fine, shake hands, what have you, then someone touches my arm or shoulder for one second too long and I can't bloody stand it." He looked relieved, as if this had troubled him, to be understood. He parked at the bottom of a rocky path that made a small turn a few hundred meters to the left through a path of trees, heading towards the base of a large hill. I slipped my fingers into his and he raised an eyebrow at me in the glow of the headlights.  
  
"It's different when I'm wearing gloves," I said simply. "Let's see how long it takes before you want to crush my fingers, hm?"

He snorted at me but kept my hand in his. We came to a crumbled wall just past the trees. I could see pale stone up ahead marking the remains of the old church. He shined the torch so I could throw my leg over it, hiking up my layered skirts to do so, then I held the light for him. He reclaimed the torch and my hand. James stopped walking for a moment and turned to me, shining the light at the ruined building. Shadows framed his eyes and drew harsh lines around his mouth. He tightened his grip on my fingers.  
  
"It makes what I do with you easier, since I don't know when to touch or if it feels right. Pain is easy to work with, and when I want to touch you, you are always responsive to it." He went on walking, adjusting his hand to grip my wrist. "And you always let me know I'm doing it right. You amaze me."  
  
"Thank you, James," I said quietly. We were in the courtyard of the church. The hill it was backed against made for a looming darkness.  
  
"You make it so easy to hurt you," he insisted. "You act like you crave it. Do you? Is it the only way you liked to be touched?" His leather glove worked its way through my layers of sleeves and down to my skin and he twisted at my wrist, heating my flesh.  
  
"Y-yes. Mostly." I thought of Richard. "It's like you said, since everything feels odd, why not control it? Because it hurts when it's not supposed to anyway, when it's supposed to feel good... I've had to make pain tolerable. It became sexual, but didn't start out that way"  
  
He clicked off the light as I spoke and slipped it into his pocket. As our eyes adjusted to moonlight, I could see he'd led us into the centre of the building, marked only by the equal distance of three hip high walls of rocks. There was a few clouds blotting out about a third of the stars, but the remaining shone like a shattered mirror dusting black velvet, the moon a sliver of pearl nestled in soft cloth. James took my other wrist in hand and drew me towards him, eyes wolf-bright.  
  
"I want to touch you now. I want to hurt you. I want to scare you, too. Do you want me to?"  
  
To say no would be to lie, because I wanted him and the way he made me feel to the point of distraction, constantly. But to say yes was to commit myself to the darkness, the cold, and his deviance. Lust won.  
  
"Please," I managed and without hesitation he twisted my arms behind me and his teeth split my upper lip. I opened my mouth to scream and his tongue pushed in blood. When I sagged in his arms from the sudden pain he half carried me down to my knees on the uneven ground, biting and lapping at my salty lips. He opened my coat half way, then gripped the collar of my shirt and tore it open, the buttons tapping down around us in the night. He jerked my coat down, pinning my arms to my sides and his nails scratched at my shoulders and he pushed my bra off in the same manner and I was naked from the ribs up, and his teeth were on my nipples instantly, biting hard and pulling at the bars. I tried to keep from screaming, focusing on not fighting him for my blood if he wanted it. He nipped at the soft flesh of my breast, sucking hard and scraping his teeth on my skin as he moved up my chest. My scarf was still around my neck and with one hand he wound it twice around my throat, then around his fist until his knuckles were pressed tight to my windpipe and I gasped against his ear for breath. He pulled the material high on my neck and bit down on the tender spot where my neck met my shoulder. I couldn't stop myself; I shrieked into the night, my scream bouncing off the hill behind us and echoing out of the broken fold to slip into the valley below us and I wondered if someone would hear it and think it was a ghost's howl.  
  
He worried at the flesh of my shoulder like a carnivore and when I tried to scream again, he twisted my scarf tightly and a sobbing breath is all I managed. I felt his teeth touch through my flesh and thought he was going to kill me. He was drinking my blood and was about to rip into my throat. Blood was running down my back and over my breasts. I whimpered, pushing at him. He pulled at the wound and I twisted in agony. He finally lifted his face to mine. I could only see a pale oval, but I could smell my blood on his breath.  
  
"Stop fucking screaming," he snarled, and shoved me to the ground. "I'm not afraid of marking your face up anymore. I know you'll be proud of it. You show it off to him," he growled, his voice like poison and I was unconscionably afraid of him. I felt small and powerless in his arms, lightheaded from pain and confused by arousal. Useless tears trickled from my eyes and James put his mouth to mine again, stealing my breath. He pulled away and I sobbed silently in his grip. I could feel his eyes on my body where the moonlight made my exposed skin glow. When he reached for the ends of the scarf I fought him, panicking and terrified. He lashed out at me, his fingers slapping across my left eye and I was blind then, my eyes involuntarily clenching shut and leaking even harder now.  
  
"Oh, no, no, please!" I wailed as I felt the scarf become a noose and I struggled to follow the upwards pull but he kicked me over and I fell to my hands and knees. He covered me with his body, forcing me face down onto the wet, cold ground, and somehow he won my arms from beneath my chest. The scarf became a ligature quickly when he tied my arms with the length of it behind my back. My head was pounding with trapped blood, lungs heaving for air through my constricted throat, my eyes burned horribly and sharp rocks were digging into to my breasts and knees, but he wasn't done. My skirt was pushed up and panties ripped away and his teeth nipped at the back of my thighs, back and forth, tearing the tender flesh there, too. I was so cold when he slapped my ass cheeks, all I felt was a dull thudding sensation, one that was forcing me forward with every impact until I was splayed out in the dirt, gasping. His belt replaced his hand, striking my thighs, and I wanted to be numb as well then, but it was agony. He hit me in rapid succession, carelessly, grunting with the effort. I wanted him to stop but I could barely breathe, had no purchase to get away from him and could not see him in the darkness, so I screamed, desperate, kicking my legs to thwart the blows from his belt. The weight of his body knocked the little air I had out of my lungs and more stars than was in the sky erupted in front of my eyes. He bit my ear and I squealed again.  
  
"Sometimes bodies were buried under the floors of these old churches," he hissed into my ear, making me squirm and try to jerk away as his teeth clicked dangerously close. He forced my thighs apart with his knee. "So many were buried the gore would seep through the floorboards and cause the walls to buckle as the corpses swelled and decomposed." He ground my face into the dirt and I breathed it in as I sobbed. His hard cock was hot, and hurt me as he shoved into me all at once. He rolled his hips powerfully, grinding me into the ground, into the rocks.

"Nobody knows exactly where you are. I could bury you here, amidst all these old bones. You'd be just another poor dead girl among all the others already buried here. I'll dig a hole, set aside the bones I come across to throw on top of you before I cover you with dirt. Naked, with broken bones stabbing into you, so cold." The scarf tightened and my eyes closed completely. I could feel his warm breath on my face and my blood pounding in my skull, and when he bit my shoulder again it was a pain somewhere far away from me.

"I can see you in the morning light, looking up at me from the bottom of your grave. I will jerk off over you one last time, or maybe just piss on your face!" James growled and jerked on the scarf, lifting my head up, and I thought I heard a woman screaming before I passed out completely.  
  
"Tara, sweetheart, come back."  
  
I felt something wet dabbing gently at my lips, and when I cracked my right eye open because my left one was swollen shut, I could see James in the soft glow of the car's dome light. He had wet my scarf with water from a bottle in the trunk and was cleaning the bits of dirt and blood from my face. I smiled instinctively at him and my upper lip seeped blood. I whimpered when I remembered where we had been. He chuckled.  
  
"I told you I wanted to scare you, princess. I didn't think you'd go unconscious on me." He used a fingernail to pluck at mud near my bruised eye. I didn't want to keep my eyes open. I wanted to stay with him in the warm confines of his car, the smell of wet, corrupt earth in my nostrils, my breasts aching and bruised, face swollen and the places he had wounded me becoming more and more tender and stinging.  
  
As if he had read my thoughts earlier, he suddenly said, “You don’t seem to mind when Richard touches you. I see you enjoy a cuddle with him fairly often.”  
  
I blushed, the rush of blood to my cheeks making them burn. “I do, I mean, I’m sorry? I don’t... I do like it, him... It’s... The way...” I stammered to a stop, biting my hurt lip. James smiled at my discomfort, not unkindly.  
  
“What do you like about the way he touches you? Or is it just him?”  
  
I tried to look away, out the dark window, embarrassed and worried that I had offended or hurt James somehow, but he caught my chin and turned my face back to his.  
  
“I don’t know the difference,” I whispered. “He touches me...like he’s desperate to. So tightly most of the time. It’s soothing. Especially...when you...hurt me, or either of us. He grounds me, holding me like he does. I don’t even have to hug him back, he just clings to me. The weight, the pressure of him... I love it. I have since the first night we slept in the same bed. At the beach house. We didn’t do anything,” I said quickly when James’ eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “I almost left. I woke up, and thought about leaving, disappearing on you guys. I think Richard knew, somehow, and when I didn’t get up and go, he wrapped his arms around me, and it just felt so good.”  
  
James leaned back into his seat and now he was the one who looked out into the dark autumn night. “I’m glad you didn’t leave, and that you find comfort in his embraces,” he said. “I am a little jealous, you know. Hush. I understand though. I know I’m not affectionate like he is, so I can’t lament that you don’t get enough of that from me.” He glanced at me then, slyly, the jealousy apparent in his eyes, but there was something else there as well. “He’s envious of you, of course. He wishes to be hurt, physically, and you’ve made that worse for him, like I knew you would, by wearing your bruises so well. So there’s he and I. What are you jealous of, princess?”  
  
“I don’t think there’s anything.”  
  
“No? Little Saint Tara,” he teased.  
  
Richard came to the house the next evening, and though James seemed to have forgotten our conversation in the car, I looked at them both with new insight. Richard visibly winced when he saw the marks on my body; the bites on my shoulder and breasts, especially, and when he brushed the hair from my bruised face as James turned away from us for a moment, I could see it then, envy tinging the worry, and when James looked over his shoulder at us and saw Richard’s fingers on my cheek, I knew now the tightness around his mouth to be because of the tenderness I didn’t flinch from. I knew my sin at that moment, and it was pride. Pride that all we felt so intensely for each other we were willing to share, endure, and sacrifice so much.


	7. Chapter 7

_but do I hate what she is_  
_or do I want to be her_  
_and don’t we love something fresh_  
_anything new, virgin_

 

 

I heard the clicking first. It was subtle and I might have been mistaking it for some time as heels on the hard floor, but slowly I recognised a dissonance; it was too fast for heels, too random, and while the crowd moved like waves, almost to the point of sea-sickness to me, this noise went against the flow, rushing ahead of the flux, coming close to me as James tried to keep us just in front of the mass, then it would stall, go quiet, only to reemerge as a group washed over and past us. It became impossible for me to ignore, even in the face of such colour and beauty as were the paintings. Clutching James’ hand so I would not be separated from him, I sought the source of the clicking, first looking at the floor, rubbing my neck absently as if it were sore, making sure I wasn’t mistaking someone’s step for this curious noise. While I was looking for a pattern my brain already told me I wouldn’t find, I noticed just the opposite. There was a stand alone pair of legs ending in sensible black shoes, half obscured by slacks just barely pressed enough to get the wearer through the door. The man seemed to be doing a little dance with himself, stepping one foot back, pausing, bending a knee for balance and then rotating before shuffling to the side to let people ebb by him, where the dance would start again. The clicking centered around this person, of that I became certain, but I seemed to be caught in a tide of particularly tall people and could not see any more than glimpses of his legs and a dark, lowered head.

James was looking at me curiously and I leaned into him, lifting my face to his so he could hear me and he came close, putting his fingers on my bare shoulder, and it was this intimate gesture the illicit camera caught when the crowd suddenly broke around us and James and I were left exposed on the edge. Spotted, the photographer gave a toothy, apologetic grin and darted off, gone before James could move to follow him or alert security.

“Parasitic buggers!” James spat. He glared after the man, then shrugged and stepped towards the crowd, only to find me rooted to the spot.

“It’s alright, princess,” he said soothingly. “Don’t worry, nothing will come of it.”

When I didn’t move or even shift my eyes from the doorway the man had fled through, James let go of my hand and moved to stand in front of me, breaking my line of sight. I gasped, startled inexplicably at his appearance and closeness. The indrawn breath was sharp in my chest, painfully expanding under a band of tightness that had been slowly ratcheting itself around me for a while now and was as restricting as any rope or corset James had ever cinched me into. My knees felt watery and I sagged a little as I looked up at him, and it was like I was peering at his face from the bottom of a well. He frowned and put a hand on my waist, but his arm seemed frighteningly long and took an eon to reach me and I squeaked, disoriented, closing my eyes.

When I opened them again, my tunnel vision was worse, and now James’ face was in the company of others, though I couldn’t recognise any of them. I was sinking through a tunnel at speed with onlookers gathering around the distant and only exit, and I would have to claw my way up before them, move past them, through them, if I were to get out of here.

“Tara!” James’ voice hissed in my ear, one arm around me now, squeezing my waist tightly, holding me up, and he snapped the fingers of the other hand and I jolted, looked up at him quickly. The lights seemed to be flickering at first, but I understood after a moment I was blinking rapidly and that my hands were raised almost to my face and were wavering there, fingers wiggling absently. The tunnel vision was fading, and James had walked us around a corner, away from the mass of people.

“I am alright,” I said, my lips moving numbly.

“You’re not. We’ll just stay here for a moment,” he said, shuffling me towards a little cushioned leather bench against a wall between two tall areca palms. He sat with me, my wrist in his firm grip, watching me at first until he was sure I wasn’t going to faint, then he leaned back and studied the paintings on the opposite wall while I breathed slowly, the anxiety fading but not gone. It was torture to force my gaze away from my lap and accept I existed outside of this small space occupied by my body.

I was in a room, a brightly lit, white walled room, broken up on one side by plants and benches like the ones guarding and supporting us, and on the other side by swatches of bold colours, boxed in by frames. The paintings were mostly of average size, but they were deep and I fancied I could reach both arms through the one directly opposite myself and crawl into it. I would fall some distance to a blackened earth, thick with fine dust that would puff up into my face and, blinking to clear my watering eyes, I would turn my face up to purple and crimson clouds hiding the darkest of blue skies possible for the day, small patches of which were reflected in a jagged body of water that would scald or freeze me, I couldn’t decide. Next to this painting was another of flaming orange, and the green-gold and blue of dusk and as I forced myself to focus I could make out three figures, two menacingly focused on each other, a steely blade between them, transfixing but not penetrating the fiery female figure between them.

“The colours,” I murmured.

“Astonishing, isn’t it? The watercolours, especially. Do you know this artist?” James questioned me, trying to ease me out of my tenseness.

“No. I’ve never seen any of these,” I managed.

“Nolde, see?” He pointed to a carved badge above the door we’d entered. “Come,” he eased me to my feet, studying me for a second to see if I wobbled. Finding me relatively sure on my feet, he drew me beside him. “I’ll show you my favourite.”

We walked toward the far wall and the paintings became an incredible blur of colours so intense I was sure my view of the real world would seem lacking after this. Clouds, lakes, the ocean and its beach, even the white and opalescent blue of snow was astounding, almost alien. James stopped in front of a large painting of the Crucifixion, all burnt umber and citron, midnight blue and impossible silver. Faces grotesque in their bruised sadness and indifference, it was at once childish and devastating. James’ voice slithered into my ear as he pressed his body against mine from behind, his hands on my hips, his lips against my ear.

“Can you imagine the pain, princess? Suffering like that, pierced through your palms. Worse, through your feet? It was done callously, I suspect, but I would do it slowly just so I could see your expression change. I would push your pretty little feet down over a spike already embedded in the wood, sole first.”

I gasped, heat creeping into my face, when James pulled me back against him and I could feel his hard cock against my ass.

“I would do it so slowly it would start almost as a tickle, but I could make your bones crack with the force it would take to get all the way through the top of your foot. You’d be crippled, perhaps, but would you try to beg me to stop before I did the same to your other foot?”

I could see him out of the corner of my eye, watching me. I shook my head minutely.

“No? Good girl, you’d suffer for me! Shh, hold still," he said and I tried to still my trembling, horrified and aroused by my willingness to be his victim. “I would love to see you suffer like this," he went on once I had gone utterly still again. “I would fuck you, forcing your pinned legs apart, twisting your feet on the nail, oh you would be so tight from the pain! I would fill you with my come, and beat your little clit until it was bloody before lifting you up on the cross for everyone to see, your breasts bruised and your face beaten, legs dripping with your piss and come, and I’d be so proud of you for not screaming and begging. Sometimes the crucified were given little seats to sit on to take some of the weight from their arms, but I’d make sure you had a long, thick peg in your ass to hold you up. Would you like that?"

I nodded automatically, helplessly, and moaned as his fingers dug into my flesh. He turned me around, looking at me, searching my face, eyes ablaze with lust, cheeks flushed slightly.

“There you are," he said, sounding pleased. I smiled back at him, truly feeling better, the anxiety having receded to a manageable trickle, my sight normal and unhindered. My hands tingled slightly, but I was standing unaided. “Shall we go home, princess?"

He escorted me towards the lobby. Before we reached the exit, I spied a bathroom and asked if he would wait just a moment. I relieved myself, wiping away sticky wetness, and washed my hands. I wanted to splash water on my face but it took several minutes before I could face myself in the mirror, experience assuring me the visage in the reflection would seem unfamiliar and distorted, the disquiet I had experienced altering my perceptions enough to warp my sense of self. But James had played his terrible trick on me, dripping horrors into my mind that washed away my own minor discomforts and filled me instead with shameful arousal, making me compliant and submissive, bringing me back to safety, as absurd as it seemed considering what he had said to me. The cool water sharpened my focus and I ventured a quick glance at into the mirror and was pleased to recognise who was there. My eyes looked a little strained and dark underneath, but the green irises were clear and bright. I shook my hair out of its bun at the side of my neck, letting the reddish mass down my back. I smoothed my simple black dress and stepped back so I could see the shining gold chains at my throat and wrist matching the modest golden heels James had strapped around my toes and ankles. I smiled at myself at the memory of his touch and went to rejoin him.

He was always so still it was easy to find him, even in the crowded lobby. He was stone; sharp lines and exact length, holding his space, as permanent and solid as his company was ethereal. I stopped just outside the bathroom, taking a step towards the corner, out of the flow of people and where I could not be seen by this woman. Pale, delicate; shimmering ash blonde hair and a bone white dress, she reminded me of the silver birch trees of my childhood. She stood close enough that tendrils of her light seemed to lick at his clothes, smokey bits of her exploring his surfaces. Her blood red lips pouted at the corners even though she was smiling up at James. Heavy on his heels, he was talking steadily and watching her from under lowered lids. They knew each other, I was sure of it by the way her hand brushed along the back of his arm as she laughed demurely, and that it was an intimate knowledge was confirmed by the way his eyes roamed unabashedly over her slight form. She gripped the sleeve of his jacket and tugged on it, looking wistfully up at him as a doorman appeared and motioned outside, presumably for a taxi. James shook his head and kissed the back of her hand, lingering over her fingers and letting them trail slowly out of his palm as she stepped past him, looking over her shoulder at him once before disappearing through the doors.

James stretched his back like a cat just waking from sleep and wiped his palms against his hips and stared after the departed for a long moment, then turned, finding me instantly. He stayed where he was, turning a palm in a beckoning motion towards me. I went slowly, forcing my breath to evenness and calm, but I was silent until we had discovered his Mini Cooper and were well away from the crush of traffic around the city’s centre. Our voices overlapped into garble all at once as he picked up speed heading towards the bridge.

“Like an old married couple, prone to talking at the same time,” he laughed, but I knew it was slightly forced.

“Please, go ahead,” I mumbled.

“I ran into a...friend of mine.”

“I saw.”

“I know you did. I haven’t seen Sarah in, oh, since before I met you in Florida.”

“Hm.”

“She’s an art lover, a dance critic. Met her at a Bach concert, what, four years ago.”

“She seemed happy to see you. She’s very pretty.”

“Isn’t she? Strange bird, though. Quirky. Sharp-tongued. Demanding, too.” He coughed and braked sharply, unnecessarily. I looked at him avoiding my side of the small car completely.

“We were lovers off and on for awhile.”

My masochism aroused well before now, I encouraged him, trying to control my tone and tune it to genuine curiosity. “What happened?”

“Did I mention she’s demanding? Wanted her own space, so I gave it to her, and she apparently lost track of me in all that freedom. It’s not like I wanted to marry her, just spend more time together. She’s always on the go, traveling around, following troupes and performances across the country. I offered to share the house with her so she wouldn’t spend so much on one that was empty half the time, but she wouldn’t have it.” He didn’t sound upset about anything he was revealing, only slightly confounded.

“Did you get along together?”

“I certainly thought so. A lot in common, not just the arts, but personally. We both like our space...” Here, he chewed his cheek for a few blocks before finally glancing at me. “Why are you so interested?” he said, as though he had not brought it up.

“Did you love her?”

“What? I don’t know about that. I am—was very fond of her, and disappointed when she seemed to lose interest, but it became an on and off thing, and after a couple years I got used to her just showing up. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about her lately.”

“Does Richard know her?”

James blurted a laugh and looked at me again, but he didn’t answer my question. When we pulled into the driveway, James finally turned to me, humour in his eyes but his words were careful. “Yes, she knows Richard, but not anything else. We went out together a few times, Richard, Mindy, Sarah and I, but it was before all of this.”

“Was she...like us? Like Richard and I?”

“Was... Oh, no!” He laughed again and quickly stifled it when he saw my frown. “What I mean is, she’s rather like me, if anything. She’s a very dominate woman, sure of herself and what she wants. The sex was fucking amazing. Now, go inside and take your dress off. Leave the heels on.”

My feet strapped tightly and arched onto my toes, my wrists bound to the heels, my long hair caught under my back so my head was twisted awkwardly and my view was of the nightstand next to James’ bed, he took what he wanted from me, draining his lust and confusion into me. Everything about the act felt strange to me because his mind was in two places and James only ever wanted to do one thing at a time. He was frustrated with himself and took it out on me, but whatever he wanted from me, I could do nothing but hold myself up, muscles tense, body arched, trying to keep him from breaking my neck. I was gagged, too tightly, and my lips were caught in the strap, pinching my cheeks in viciously, but he paid no attention to my whimpering as he tried to fuck and sweat the other woman from his thoughts. That it wasn’t working became evident when he suddenly grabbed me by the throat and jerked me up and over onto my belly. My hands were released but retied quickly by the wrists to each other and my shoes came off without the buckles being undone, ripped from my ankles with brute force that left burned skin for days after.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what we talked about at the gallery,” he snarled at me and I was reminded painfully when I felt him kneel on my left leg and, holding my right ankle tightly, he pressed an electric wand against the sole of my foot. I shrieked at the sensation. He rubbed the awful thing over my arch and tapped it against all of my toes before returning it to the centre of my foot and keeping it there, flicking through the intensities randomly until I was sobbing, begging wordlessly around my gag, saliva mingling with blood as it dripped from my bitten lips. My other foot was not spared, nor my hands when he told me the only way I could make this stop was to grasp the tool in both hands and hold it without dropping it while he took my ass. I was shaking, my hands cramping, my body rocking steadily on his cock as he made me fuck myself, and it seemed an eternity before I felt his cock swell and fill me with come.

“Sexy little bitch,” he said as he flattened me beneath him, jabbing his cock with short, hard thrusts into my ass, milking the last of his come out. “You may let go now.”

I couldn’t, and he knew it, but he pretended otherwise for another minute before he snickered and pried it from my hands, and it felt like flesh went away with it, and I screamed when he shoved it against my ribs.

“The killing stroke, you know how the story goes, right?”

I bucked and twisted under him but ended up trapping the wand underneath me against the bed and he left it there, holding me down with the weight of his body. He grabbed a handful of my knotted hair and pushed my face down into his feather mattress, smothering me, and I fought him like an animal, the biting wand at my ribs driving me into a frenzy to escape. I was begging him behind my ball gag, saying ‘no’ as best I could, but soon I had no air to breathe, let alone make noises with, the tunnel vision from the evening returning suddenly and quickly enveloping my world, and I went limp, unable to control my limbs, before he released me.

Lying on his back, breathing heavily, he said, “Shit. I suppose I’ll be taking you shoe shopping tomorrow. We’re going to the ballet on Friday.”

He bought me shoes, gold to replace the ones broken, and a new dress of cocoa brown velvet that hugged my hips, the straps almost off the shoulder and the front plunging. He made me wear my hair down and gave me a burgundy lace shawl for the chill evening air.

We made it inside the theatre without incident and took our seats in the front row of the first balcony. James was preoccupied, fidgeting and looking around, though it took me a while to notice. Before presenting me with the dress, he had carefully corseted me in soft rope around my breasts, ribs, and belly, and had placed small rubber tipped clamps on my nipples behind my piercings. They were already starting to bite and I wondered how I was going to make it through the next hour or more without begging freedom from them. I tried to distract myself by people watching, and that was how I spotted Sarah again, glowing like a moonstone in an inky bowl of black suits and dresses around her. She was on the ground floor near the front, and she either did not know or did not care where James was for she never turned her head or even seemed to glance around. She had a companion, a small balding man, and they chatted companionably until the ballet began. The production was, for me, a blur of beautiful music and spinning bodies, and pain.

I was concentrating on not screaming and did not notice when the performance ended and James’ fingers digging into my arm as he pulled me to my feet startled me. My soft dress brushing against my clamped nipples as I stood made me moan and I felt warm tears slip down to my chin. I wanted to brush them away but was afraid the movement would further disturb my throbbing breasts, so I left them. I concentrated on their coolness as the air dried them, wishing it would transfer to my nipples somehow. James was dragging me through the crowd, though it was thin still, as he had left before the encore. The Bentley was in the parking garage attached to the Centre and when James let go of me to retrieve his keys, I begged him: “Please, I’m in so much pain. The clips-"

He whipped around and grabbed my left breast in a crushing grip. I screamed. His hand slapped over my mouth and he slammed me against the car. My cry echoed in the garage around us. He glared at me and I whimpered behind his palm. The clip on my nipple was tweaked by his hand and my flesh felt like it was being burned but he had no intention of relieving my pain. He pushed me against the Bentley, a wordless command, and I stayed where I was, splayed against it, as he unlocked his door, and then the trunk, but I protested when he grabbed me again.

“James, no, _please!_ I don’t want to go in the trunk! Please, why are you doing this? I’ll be good, I won’t— _No!_ " I screamed as he lifted me by the waist and sat me on the edge of the trunk and then pushed me backward. I slipped into the musty hole and he caught my ankles and twisted my legs, bending them inside the lip and then he palmed my face again.

Leaning over me, he snarled, “Shut up! And fucking stay quiet, or you will not like what I do to you." He produced a set of metal handcuffs and, rolling me onto my belly, shackled my wrists behind me and then slammed the lid closed.

I whimpered again in the darkness and wiggled onto my side. The motion broke the clip on my right nipple somehow and I gritted my teeth against the surge of fresh agony there. There was a moment of relief and I shivered as I felt blood rush into the crushed nipple, but within minutes my discomfort was worse than before. Having one nipple free of torment only seemed to increase the pain in the other and soon my left arm and chest and back was burning. I tried to roll onto my other side, hoping I could maybe brush the other clamp off, but two things kept me from succeeding. One was claustrophobia. As I tried to move, my legs had no room to straighten, and my knees brushed the confines of the trunk and I was edging on panic in moments, the only thing I could do to limit it was hold still so I wasn’t physically reminded of my confinement.

The other was the brutal metal cuffs. They tightened when I tried to roll onto my back and bit into my wrist painfully. I stilled myself with effort, breathing in the pungent air of the Bentley, willing my eyes to adjust so I could stop my imagination telling me I was in a slowly shrinking box. After a while I could see traces of light along the edges of the trunk lid and even feel a bit of fresher air through those gaps. I heard people coming and going around me, clicking heels and laughter and cars starting and the inevitable squeal of tires as people made their way through the garage levels. Perhaps half an hour dragged by and slowly the noises lessened and almost faded except for an occasional straggler, and finally I heard James return. Or rather, felt him.

The car shuddered and I suppressed a startled cry, having almost fallen asleep despite the fire to my left side. I heard the door open and close, and then a muffled feminine giggle. My physical discomfort immediately disappeared. My heart began to race and I wanted to scream knowing who had laughed without ever having heard her voice. Sarah laughed again. I could hear them quite well through the seats. James was questioning her: where had she been, where was she going, it had been so long-

“My god, but you talk too fucking much!” she exclaimed, her voice high and musical. “Just shut it, will you? Never mind where I’ve been, I’m here now, and I want you. My pussy wants you, it’s missed you, James,” she said, and the car rocked.

“Other men are boring now,” she complained and I could hear the pout in her voice. “But I try to find ones to entertain me! Boys with big dicks and pliant natures. None of them have your staying power, though!” She gasped and I knew James was kissing her, and she moaned into his mouth and there was a shuffling, sliding noise, and she spoke again, her voice low and silky.

“There’s my big cock! Oh, I’ve been dreaming of you lately, of fucking on Jeremy’s boat in the summer, remember? Just lying there letting the waves rock us, drinking tequila and you licking salt off my breasts?”

“I remember,” James said, and she laughed again.

“You’re not putting it my ass, you fucking pig!”

James grunted, and they were both quiet for a moment, then I felt a gentle vibration start, a slow rocking of the Bentley. There were more words from them both, but they were nonsense, vocalisations of pleasure and desire, and the shuddering of the car increased. Sarah began to mutter finally, her words punctuated with gasps and cries. She demanded more, harder, told him what he felt like inside her, asked him if he liked what she was doing, described her wetness and the depth of penetration, and she was panting, bouncing the car as she rode him and when she orgasmed she cried out, loudly, and James kept fucking her for long minutes, keeping her at that pinnacle until she was commanding him to come, telling him to fill her cunt, to kiss her, to tell her how much he wanted her, and he did all of those things, and I felt like I was dying.

I made a plan. When James finally freed me, I would just walk away. He would know what he had done, and he would come after me, but I would only accept his money, and I would leave, go back home and forget this, forget how I’d put myself in the hands of another man who didn’t care about me, who would leave me, who was only with me because he couldn’t have what he really wanted. If he wanted this woman and what little she had to give him, he could have her!

I was crying, silently and steadily, listening to their whispers. I didn’t understand why James had done this to me, and I was angry and hurt, but still, there was a part of me—his part, and I was scared when I realised it was so much of me—that was calm. It was only waiting for him to show me what walls it had broken down inside me that would allow him still greater access to me. We were not like other people. I was now not who I was before I met him. Was I just a toy in his hands, or did I choose to be here, did I want whatever he would do to me, and did that not make him want me all the more? Wasn’t he as committed to this difficult life as I was, and if so might this not be a part of it and not just a cruel way of telling me he no longer wanted me? Had I made a mistake and James was turning out to be just another selfish man who felt he could throw me away whenever he pleased, who did not care for me as best he possibly could without giving up too much of himself? What was this?

“I’m leaving tomorrow night for Prague.” Sarah’s voice roused me from my whirling thoughts. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll be too busy to see you, anyway. God, this car stinks! I’m going to have to get my dress cleaned now. Well, I guess I would have to anyway,” she giggled and I heard her body drop against the seat. “Fuck, that was grand, James! As always. That will give me something else to dream about. Give me your new number.”

“Sarah...”

“What? Well, whatever, you have mine, and I know how to find you when I need you, don’t I?”

“Don’t come to my house, Sarah.”

“Fine. You look good, James. Whatever you’re doing with yourself lately suits you.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It’s who you’re doing, isn’t it?” She laughed gaily and I heard the car door open. “Don’t tell me, I don’t really care, I’m just glad you’re happy. I am! I always want you to be happy, my dear. You’re a good man, James. Strange, but good. Hand me my panties? No, no, Ozzy’s waiting for me across the street.”

There were a few more murmured words, and then I heard her pad away on bare feet. The overhead lights dazzled me momentarily when James finally opened the trunk, and blind, I did not resist him when he lifted me out and sat me on my feet and led me to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door for me and the smell of Chanel perfume was actually noticeable over the fumes of the Bentley. My wrists were unlocked and I fumbled myself into the seat. Not waiting for his approval, I reached into my dress and released the last clamp from my nipple, biting my lips closed against the pain, cradling my breasts with one arm and wiping away the tears with my other palm. I felt James close the Bentley’s trunk with deliberate gentleness, and he circled to the driver’s side and got in. He glanced at me only once, but I couldn’t meet his gaze though my training dictated that I turn in his direction. There was red lipstick on his collar.

The ride away was smooth and silent, and I was glad for it. I was confused, and hurt, and aroused, and unwilling to admit any of it to James. He drove one handed mostly, the right holding his head up, elbow against the edge of the window, as if he had a headache. We had to go to another garage to park the Bentley and trade it in for the Mini, and I was clutching the door by the time we arrived home, James having given over gentle maneuvering for speed, as if he couldn’t be away from home one second longer. He got out and went into the house without a word to me, and I heard his door slam before I even left the garage. I stood in the empty, dark house and waited, but James never reemerged. I finally decided to take a bath, the Bentley’s weird smell and Sarah’s perfume a cloying and nauseating mixture. The ropes were a little difficult to get out of on my own and I ended up pulling the loops down off my breasts and wriggling the coils over my hips and to the floor. My breasts were swollen with blood and slightly darker than the rest of my body, my nipples still white and stretched from the clamps.

Clean and damp, I brought a heavy blanket out of my little room and curled up on my rug near the couch, carefully avoiding the arm that Fusker was perched upon. He hissed at my intrusion anyway, but I pulled my rug to the other end of the couch so I would have something to lean against as I slept. My desire to flee had disappeared. I had no reason to. I discovered in myself a curiosity I had not realised before, a need to know the reason. I would wait out James’ silence. In the meantime, I wanted him to see me. I wanted as few barriers between us now as possible. I could see the light from his room beneath the door, and I fell asleep before I saw it go out, content that I would be the first thing he noticed when he finally felt he could face me. But it was a note I awoke up to. A yellow piece of paper on the floor near my head, and I woke only a moment before Fusker would have snatched the curiosity up and run away with it, and then I might have been in a panic, wondering if James had slipped away to see Sarah again before she left. As it was, I only had his word, scribbled hastily, that he was off with his friend Jeremy. That I trusted him was because of the second of the two sentences on the paper.

_You have done nothing wrong._

He came home drunk. A taxi delivered him to the curb and it was Fusker perking up that led me to the widow to see him tossing money at the driver and then slouching up the walk and into the garage rather than the front door. Nervously, I hurried from the window to my room, then to the kitchen, then back to the couch and was halfway back to my room when he finally flung the door open and leaned against it rather than coming inside. I was frozen for moment and we stared at each other. I forced a smile. I was happy to see him, but I was afraid.

“Princess,” he murmured, returning my smile. His face was ruddy, his eyes watery and half closed. He was wearing black pants and a blazer, and his blue and white shirt was half pulled out.

“How was your day?” I ventured, taking a step towards him. He jerked upright and closed the door, heading away from me towards the kitchen.

“Fucking terrible, almost! Fucking Clarkson. Took me fucking shopping with him! He’s redecorating, of all the boring things in the world,” he said, rummaging in the refrigerator and coming out with leftover curry.

“I can heat that up for you.”

“Don’t bother. Jackass Clarkson—” James looked at me suddenly, cutting himself off. “Thank you.” He waved the curry at me by way of explanation. “You’re sweet, you know that? I thought about you all day, when I could drown Jezza out of my head.” He sat down, hard, at the kitchen table and kept talking around mouthfuls. “I _like_ you, Tara. I do. I’ve never really liked anyone, not the way I like you. I want to be with you. _You_ would have liked what I did today, looking at fabrics and pretty things, matching, imagining. You’re good at that, and I would have had a good time with you there! I pretended you were. Talked to you. You want some?” He thrust the container at me. I smiled, honestly now, and took it, sitting across from him. I could smell the bourbon on him. He watched me eat, his eyes half-closed and almost glaring.

“Thank you for leaving me a note. Fusker almost ate it.”

“Welcome. Do you like Guns N Roses?”

“What?”

“I need some Axle.”

With that, he was gone. A moment later, music was blaring through the house and I found him sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, eyes closed.

“Shh, listen. The piano. He’s a grand pianist, really. Where’s Richard? I don’t know why Jezza didn’t take _him_ fucking shopping... I brought something back for you, by the way,”

“You did?”

James waved to silence me, phone in his hand. “Later. Richard, sodding laggart, come here. I know that! Tell Andy to fuck off, and come here.”

The half hour it took Richard to arrive James spent at his piano, playing along to _Use Your Illusion_ , I his appreciative audience. I had never seen him act so flippant and excitable. He sang to me, making up accompaniments to the songs and playing _Sweet Child o’ Mine_ twice, and Richard had a bemused grin on his face when he appeared, having heard James from the street. He joined me on the couch, leaning over the back of it to watch James perform.

The album finished for the second time, and James was slightly less drunk and very much less exuberant when he came around to the front of the couch. He sat on the floor again and pushed sweaty strands of hair off his forehead. Richard put his hands in his lap and looked from James to me and back, an eyebrow raised.

“She met Sarah last night,” James said abruptly, staring at me, his voice toneless.

“Sarah? Oh, um, oh—” Richard said, flustered.

“I didn’t really meet her,” I said when James didn’t do anything more than watch me, vacantly.

“You didn’t? What... Then... Oh.”

“You never liked her.” James leaned back on his hands, peering up at Richard.

“Well, it’s not that. I mean, I just said she’s not very nice to you. She’s just not very _nice_.”

James laughed, covering his mouth with his hand and giggling almost hysterically. “Not nice to me! Why should that matter to _you?”_

Richard blushed. James’ hand moved from his mouth to his eyes and he shuddered. Rising to his knees, he leaned towards Richard, who flinched back, but James only threw himself across Richard’s legs, head buried in his arms. Richard’s mouth fell open and he slowly lifted his eyes from the man in his lap to me. I shook my head, as baffled and startled as Richard.

 _She’s gone?_  He mouthed at me and when I nodded, he mouthed _Good!_  He made a little gesture to indicate he’d tell me more later, and then did something I knew he’d never do if James hadn’t been drunk and momentarily broken. He put his hand to James’ head, his slender fingers sliding through James’ wavy hair. James twitched slightly but did not pull away, and after a moment he visibly relaxed under Richard’s gentle touch. When he moved again it was only to reach out blindly for me. I took his searching hand and let him draw me close to them, and we sat together for a long time, linked.

James roused himself eventually, shaking off Richard’s hand and getting to his feet in one unsteady motion. He blinked down at us for a few seconds and then shuffled off into the kitchen, returning with beer and more bourbon, and ginger ale for me to mix it with. He slid to the floor again, his back against the couch, and set his collection of bottles down on the table with a force that sent Fusker darting away into James’ room. James flicked his middle finger at the cat and then pointed with it at us.

“You both,” he said, “will drink with me. You don’t have to get drunk, but at least don’t let me feel I’m alone in the endeavor to.” It came out surprisingly unslurred. Richard was happy to comply, and I joined them, and we sat in a half circle, Richard in the middle, and if Richard and I didn’t get more than a little buzzed, we made a good show of it.

When James had finally had enough, or at least couldn’t have any more, he heaved himself onto the couch and without a word to either of us, rolled over and went directly to sleep. That Richard burst out laughing, loudly, and James didn’t move, was testament to his accomplishing what I was sure was the point of this: oblivion.

Richard’s mirth died when he saw I did not share it, though I was happy enough James had decided on this course of action as opposed to taking out whatever he was feeling on either of us. Richard picked my hand up and kissed the back of it then pulled me up. We wobbled against each other and I did giggle at that, and let him lead me to my room. We shut the door and Richard flopped onto my bed, stretching out. He sat up quickly, however.

“Oh, best to stay up here for a moment, I think. Didn’t realise you had a carousel bed, little girl!”

I rolled my eyes and handed him a jar of water. I hopped onto the table by the window, where I could see the moon.

“Mm, thanks. Met the ice queen, did you?”

I watched the moon be cut apart by leaves only to heal herself instantly. “No, not really. I saw them together first. And then I heard them. Together. From the trunk of the fucking Bentley.”

“Shit. Did you burn your clothes?”

“Who is she, Richard?”

“What, besides James’ poison of choice?”

“That’s what I thought. He told me a little about her. About them. Enough, I guess. Just... He took me to the ballet knowing she’d be there. Knowing he would...do what he did. He wanted me to be there! While he...while they...”

Richard slipped off the bed and came to me, putting his arms around me.

“I’m sorry. She’s got a hold on him. I don’t know what it is, I don’t even know if he knows, really. Maybe he wants what he can’t have, just like the rest of us do sometimes, right? No, that’s not it. He could have her, he did have her, but he let her go.”

“But why would he do this now? Was he just trying to hurt me? Make me feel horrible? Jealous? He asked me if I was jealous once. Of you. I said I wasn’t; is he just trying to force it on me?”

“Jealous of—No, I don’t think so. I don’t know, honey, I’m sorry. So wait, he took you to where he knew she would be. How did he know?”

“They ran into each other a few days ago, at the art gallery. James took me to that special black tie viewing. She didn’t see me. She must have told him she was going to the ballet.”

Richard tried out the bed again and this time managed to stay horizontal while he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. He sighed and closed his eyes. “He was obsessed with her, at first. Years ago. Was certain she was ‘the one’, that she’d be his. Took quite a while for him to admit she was her own woman, to say the least. She didn’t care a sot for his feelings. She liked him well enough, I suppose, she was always happy when I saw her with him. Great laugh, smile...legs. Oh, but she just didn’t care that he cared for her. She’d take whatever he gave her, say thank you, oh that’s very nice, and then she’d disappear for weeks or months and show back up and be surprised he asked her where she’d been. She knew what he felt for her, she simply couldn’t be bothered to return anything close to it.” Richard yawned, and his words came slower, with breaks in between them. “Maybe he just had to see one last time that she is as heartless as he knows she is. Maybe he hadn’t let go completely. Maybe he needed to know you would care that he had been heartbroken before?”

The moon was diving into the trees now, giving herself over to be lashed at furiously by the green tipped branches. I let Richard fall asleep without replying to him. After a while, I crept out of my room and curled on the rug next to the couch. Next to James. I heard Richard leave later. I didn’t stir to stall him, knowing he’d slept a few hours and was sober now and on his way home to his family.

James gave me my present the next afternoon. It had taken him most of the morning to recover. Most of the morning, strong coffee he’d begged me to make, a long, hot shower and a plateful of dry toast and scrambled eggs. But he came around just as the sun began its slide back down towards the horizon after peeking its lights through blustery clouds over the city. He’d been pecking at his piano, staying at the higher octaves, and I was reading in my room after I’d watered the plants in the house. He’d not said anything about my habit of bringing the flowers and vines home, other than an occasional agreeable grunt when he spotted a new one, so the house was slowly becoming a little jungle. I heard him push the bench in and then his shadow darkened my page and I looked up. He was standing in the doorway, a long cord is his hand. It was lavender coloured and about as long as his arm from one tasseled end to the other. The rope was twisted and looked shimmery and soft, and I could see small metal beads in the nest of threads on each tassel.

“It’s a curtain tie-back,” he said, entering my room. “There were samples galore, and I had to have this. For you. I thought the colour would look lovely against your skin. If I’m right, maybe we’ll do your room like this? Would you like that? Some new curtains, dark paint... Strip, please.”

I shed my dress and tights. He circled me, letting the tassels dance over my skin. Across my shoulders, down my arms, over my breasts, then lower, tickling my belly and hips and buttocks. Holding the cord taut between either thumb, he ran his palms over my chest and breasts, standing behind me. The rope was very soft and he sawed it back and forth across my nipples a few times.

“You’re so beautiful, Tara! So smart, and brave. So strong. I have every smile you’ve ever given me cataloged. When I’m bored, or frustrated at work, I just picture you in here reading, naked of course, a cup of tea on your soft belly, your arms brushing against your breasts as you turn pages, and I am a new man at the thought.”

As he spoke, he pulled the cord tight against my ribs, under my breasts, and then tugged up, letting them fall heavily out of the loop he’d made. He knocked his shoe against my ankles and I spread my legs obediently. He stepped away and then I felt the tassels slap against my crotch. A few soft strokes, then they became harder, and I felt the little metal beads against my flesh. I gasped when one of them found my clit, swollen and poking through my lips. The lashing stopped, but I gasped again, or tried, as I felt the silken cord wrap around my throat. James twisted it, and I scrabbled at the rope, my face becoming hot in an instant. He pulled me back against him.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he said harshly. “You are always there. Making my balls ache and my hands twitch and heart jump, no matter what I’m doing.”

The cord was loosened from my neck just as my heart started to hum in my ears, and he pushed me towards my bed. He caught my wrist and bent my arm behind my back, forcing me forward until I was kneeling on the mattress and then he brought my other arm behind me as well, and I was face down. The cord was wrapped around my wrists and I yelped as he slapped my ass. The blows were methodical, timed, and very painful and I fought him, trying to wriggle away, splaying my hands out to try to intercept his palm. He finally stopped and pulled the knot on the cord. I heard the pump rattle on the bottle of lubrication I kept by my bed at his insistence, and then I felt the wet, silky cord pushed against my ass. He twisted it, slowly, steadily, until I felt it slide inside me. He’d doubled it over and it was thick and strange feeling, but I liked it. My cheeks were heated and sensitive, and my heart was pounding at his affectionate words, and this odd sensation of soft, coiled rope twisting inside me had me moaning. He worked almost all of it up inside of me until I felt the tassels tickling my pussy. He spanked my ass a couple of times and I jumped, and he laughed.

“Wag your tail for me, my lamb,” he said and spanked me again.

I wiggled my hips, the tassels brushing the inside of my thighs and my clit in a sweeping motion. He played with my new tail for a few moments more, then, instructing me to stay where I was, left the room. He returned a minute later with a paper magazine in his hand. Moving behind me, he knelt on the bed and I felt his cock slip easily inside of me. I moaned again at the feeling of his thick cock bumping against the cord in my ass and shuddered with pleasure as he tugged at the tail, pushing and pulling on it. The magazine rustled and then it was flopped down in front of me. A cheap print, its pictures were over-saturated and fuzzy and crammed together with blurred print. I had to push back against him to be able to see it clearly, but it only took a second for me to find myself amongst the two page spread of overlapping photographs. James looked as if he were about to kiss me, though most of his face was hidden in his cloudy hair, and my eyes were half closed, the camera having caught a strange moment that would be interpreted as bliss. We were just one slender-cropped photographed couple amongst many ‘stars’ at the gallery’s opening, the title page exclaimed, but each of the other faces were familiar enough to be named. I was a ‘mystery woman dating’ the television presenter James May.

A shiver rippled through me, remembering the anxiety I’d felt after so long in seclusion and then suddenly being thrust amongst so many people. James’ cock jumped inside of me and I lifted my head, looking back at him.

“I like seeing us together,” he said, his cock twitching again. “I like being together. I want to take you out again. I want to show you off, knowing that no one knows who you are. You are mine, Tara. Only _mine_.”

With that he finally thrust into me, hard, driving me forwards. I slapped my hands down in front of me to keep from being pushed onto my face, and between my palms, Sarah was framed in the layout. Just a side view of her, but unmistakably her, with her pouting crimson lips and I could see the icy, pale blue of her eyes now. I gave a little cry of sudden rage and tried to shove the magazine away, but James leaned over me and put his hand between mine, crushing the paper, and Sarah disappeared under his palm, and I whimpered, pressing my cheek to the back of his hand, bracing myself as he fucked me.

“Come for me,” he whispered into my hair and I slipped my fingers between my legs. It took a minute only, and I was shuddering beneath him, arching up, writhing, soaking my fingers and his balls with my orgasm, and when he twisted the cord inside me and pulled, drawing it out of me all at once, I squealed with pleasure, the noise becoming a silent scream when his orgasm nipped the heels of mine and we collapsed on the bed. He jerked the magazine from under us and sent it fluttering across the room, the cord following it, landing amidst the papers. He rolled me onto my back and pushed my hair back from my face.

“James, if you want another woman, if you want her—” I started before I could help myself, before I just pushed it all away and avoided it as I had done so often in my life before.

“But I don’t. I don’t want another woman. I don’t want her,” he interrupted. “I thought I did, for a long time. And then when I saw her, I thought I wanted to hurt her, get back at her. I wanted to use her like I felt I’d been used. I wanted to fuck her and make her want me, and then tell her I didn’t want to see her again. Don’t cry,” he said, his voice pained suddenly. He brushed at the tears that had slid from my eyes, but they were not for my pain, they were at the thought of his. They were because Richard had been right last night, and James was heartbroken, had been well before he’d met me.

“I’m sorry, Tara. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know that’s a stupid thing to say. I wanted to hurt her, but I didn’t get the chance. I didn’t get that far, because I realised only too late she can’t be hurt. I couldn’t do that behind your back, but I couldn’t not do it, and I was so ashamed...after. That’s why I couldn’t face you that night, why I couldn’t talk to you. I couldn’t get any words out. I wanted the house to fall on me, lightning to strike me, I wanted you to hate me, and I was so afraid you would I couldn’t face you."

“You could have told me how you felt. I would have tried to understand, at least. I understand now. I wanted to leave, James, when I was in the trunk all I could think about was running away from you.” He closed his eyes, tightly, and I went on talking. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was, but I knew now that if he had tried to explain his feelings about Sarah to me instead of tricking me into being there when he confronted her, I would have wanted to help him.

“I wanted to leave, but I don’t now. I won’t.”

His eyes opened.

“I knew that was the last time I was going to feel that way. I’ve decided. I’ve willingly forgotten the old Tara. My past self, the scared, insecure girl I used to be. Now, I am only what I allow myself to be, not what incidences dictate I should be, not what society wants me to be for its comfort. What I want to be is who I am when I am with you. What you mold me to be, what you inspire me to be. I like who I am when I am with you, even when I am unsure or confused. I still trust you, completely, with my life and sanity, with my body and mind, you can have it all, James. You can make your own decisions without me, if that’s easier for you, but know I would do my best to help you no matter what. I trust you to do what is best for me. I won’t leave you unless you send me away. I won’t question you unless you ask for my opinion. You have my heart, James, and I give it to you gladly and willingly. I want your control, and I will do my best to give you my trust, always.”

James watched me as I spoke to him and when I was done, he stared for a while longer. Then he pulled my head towards him and kissed my eyes, and my cheeks, and then my lips, quickly, but hard.

“I deserved none of that,” he said. “Thank you.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Shut your mouth_  
_I'm spinnin' it tight down south_  
_I'm on a raid_  
_tie you down cause boy I can_  
_Save you from that evil faith_

 

 

 

It was still dark on a warm spring morning when the sound of the front door opening woke me after sleeping a balmy night away on the couch. I vaguely remembered James laying a thin blanket over me at some point, which was now twisted around my feet and James himself was standing in front of the tall, slender window next to the door. I watched him fuzzily as he gently pushed the top curtains open and brought his cupped hands to the glass. I saw a large moth flutter wildly and then he captured it, using a foot to nudge open the door so he could step out with the wildlife. He reappeared, brushing his hands off on his jeans. I knew he was going to work by the awful striped shirt he had on and when I giggled he smiled.  
  
"Sorry to wake you. I thought the moth might have a better go of it outside." He reached out and brushed hair from my face. I closed my eyes again to experience only his touch.  
  
"'s ok," I mumbled. I stretched, arching my body, unable to help the loud whine that accompanied it. James chuckled low in his throat and petted my body through the thin top and satin shorts I was wearing, running his hands gently along the outside of my breasts.  
  
"I have to leave soon." He sounded disappointed. "But I'll be back tonight. What have you to do?"  
  
"Library today. Thanks for giving me your card." He smiled, kissed my hand and left, the tickling sensation of his lips lingering long after his departure. He kissed me so rarely, unable to abide anything close to his face except his fog of hair. I often tried to kiss him just to see if he would avoid me, a silly game that usually ended with my throat in his grasp or a slap to my cheek.  
  
I roused myself leisurely, making breakfast and tea before bathing and it became such a bright, warm day I decided to walk to the huge building where I spent hours, first browsing newly returned books to see what interested the city around me, then trying to find locations of haunted or otherwise odd interest, making a list from the pile of books to share with James to further our driving adventures. I found a farmer's market on the way home and selected mushrooms and tomatoes and purple carrots and tiny golden potatoes, and I picked up the post. There was an odd box amongst the letters with no identifiable sender. I deposited my bundles on the dining table when I arrived home and called James, planning on leaving a message for him to pick up some wine to cook with, but he answered. I could hear tires screeching in the distance and someone laughing. I gave him my request and mentioned the package. He sounded nonplussed, but didn't tell me what it was and said he'd be home in a couple hours.  
  
I had the vegetables washed and stored and the house straightened and cleaned and was reading when James returned. I heard one car door close, then another, and my heart raced a little knowing Richard was with him. I hadn't seen him in almost a week, but he looked so annoyed I didn't greet him as enthusiastically as I would have liked to, and James ignored altogether me, kicking the front door closed behind him and going straight for the box on the table. He methodically stripped it of tape.  
  
"Take your clothes off, Richard," James said. The tone of his voice, the obvious command, made me step back and sink into the couch, not wanting that energy directed at me. Richard shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"I don't have time—" he began.  
  
"Make time," James said.  
  
I could see Richard thinking, testing in his head how he could explain where he was should he be asked. I wished, once again, that he could free himself from his guilt, but there was nothing to be done. How difficult he made his time with James was all his choice and he'd been walking the same course for so long now, I wondered if anything short of a disaster would alter it. He seemed to come to the same conclusion and after casting a miserable glance in my direction, he slipped out of his shoes and slowly removed his shirt. I couldn't help being aroused at his reluctant exposure. He dropped his shirt on the couch first, then stepped out of his jeans and underwear, socks last, and he clasped his hands in front of his manhood, naked. James almost had the contents of the box exposed as well, but he stopped for a moment to study Richard. He frowned and crossed the few steps to the smaller man and slapped his hands apart, narrowly missing Richard's privates.  
  
"Don't fucking hide yourself from me," James snapped at him. Richard balled his hands into fists, but kept them at his sides, head down, looking up at James from under his brows. I'd never seen him look so angrily at James before and I slid down in my chair. He stood in front of James, glowering at him until he finally dropped his gaze. Only then did James finish unwrapping the contents of the box. It was something of brownish-red leather, about three feet long, looking for all the world like the buckle-adorned leg off a pair of biker pants. Wordlessly, James pointed to a spot on the floor and Richard sank heavily to his knees. James put a hand to the back of Richard's neck and forced him to lean forward until his cheek was to the floor, and he shivered when James lay the leather over his back. James picked up Richard's right arm first, then his left and pulled them behind his back. After a few adjusting tugs for placement, James folded the leather together around Richard's arms and zipped it together, encasing his arms in a fortified sleeve. There were two straps at the top that went under his armpits and over his shoulders that secured the sleeve so he could not work it down off his arms and small horizontal buckles across the zipper were adjustable, pinning his elbows together. His arms were completely immobile, hands hidden deep in the leather. The red leather I realised now looked like a bloody bruise, and complimented his barely tan skin.  
  
James stepped back and Richard automatically tried to flex his arms. The leather creaked a little, but that was all. He rolled his shoulders and the straps dug into his skin and he finally just sank down, defeated. It was then I saw there was a large D ring at the end of the sleeve. James had watched Richard's half hearted struggle, looking pleased with himself, but now he was looking up. There was a hook sunk into the ceiling above Richard. I had been looking for a particular houseplant to hang from it, a disguise, but it was empty now. James didn't bother telling Richard to stay where he was, he simply went to his room and returned shortly with a length of rope. He procured the step stool from the kitchen and used it to thread the rope through the bolt in the ceiling. He kicked the stool away and ran the rope through the ring at the end of the sleeve and with a few loops and tugs, he slowly winched Richard's arms up and away from his body, twisting his shoulders in their sockets. It didn't take much rope for Richard to throw his head back, eyes rolling and showing white like a wild horse.  
  
"Christ, James, I can't go that way!" he cried. James looked startled—I thought happily so—at how fast this had caused Richard to break. But I could tell James was far from satisfied.  
  
"Like anything," he said pedantically, "The more you do it, the more used to it you'll get."

With that he went to his room and came back with Richard's gag and a long leash. He made a slip of the leash and though Richard tried in vain to avoid it, he had it around his neck quickly. He fought the gag as well, until James put his foot down on the leash. It tightened around Richard's throat and he was forced to keep still as his words were smothered. James let him hang for a while, his foot on the leash drawing Richard's head and torso towards the ground, the sleeve and rope attached to it stretching his arms toward the ceiling. Richard groaned loudly and raised his hips in the air, trying to find slack, but there was nowhere to go. After a few minutes spent in silence, Richard whined and jerked at his leash. James responded by pulling down on one side of the rope, causing it to lever Richard's arms impossibly higher. He protested loudly and I wished I could put my hands over my ears at the sound, but I had a dreadful vision of James making Richard scream just to torment me. He'd done it before and he was in the right mood for it now. It was bad enough when James let the rope drop, bouncing Richard's strained muscles. Amused by that, James spent the next several minutes simply tightening and releasing the ropes, until Richard was actively fighting to get away. He managed to get one foot under himself, but James brushed it back with his leg, dropping Richard to his knees again. He tried to raise his chest up, but the leash tightened around his neck dangerously, causing his face to flush red, and saliva to form in a pool near James' shoe as Richard laboured.  
  
I was hot from watching them, trickles of sweat speeding down my back. The temperature seemed to have doubled and I quietly reached for my water on the table next to me. As I did, I saw movement at the tall window James had been standing at earlier in the morning, but the movement was on the outside of the glass now. James had not straightened the curtains and I saw a small black object pressed to the window. I jumped up, noticing James had also not locked the door after his arrival home with Richard, but it was too late. The door opened and closed and a giant of a man came in like a storm, voice booming, hands flashing.  
  
"You can't kill me, I sent a picture already to meself, and if I die my wife will find it. And his wife will find out. I'm assuming she doesn't know? And I'm going to assume I can't talk to him...like that, which makes me rather happy, actually. And, oh thank God, there's a woman in here!" Jeremy Clarkson advanced on me, all long legs and surprisingly graceful, and stuck his cell phone out. "Your picture, too. But this'll go to me private email."

He put his hands on his hips, belly out, and I wanted to giggle.  
  
"James," he roared after surveying us for a moment, "what the hell is this? I don't know whether to be sick or proud."  
  
I saw James flustered for the first time. He stared at Jeremy with his mouth open, finger pointing as if to say something, but before he could gather himself, Richard thrashed on the floor and wailed. Jeremy laughed delightedly.  
  
"Oh, this explains so much about you both!" He clapped his hands together, and then jumped back a step when James came at him.  
  
"Get out!"  
  
"Only if she comes with me!" Jeremy grinned at me. James threw me a pleading look, but I was already moving forward.  
  
"Do you smoke, darling?" Jeremy asked as he opened the door for me. I looked back under his arm before stepping outside to see James slipping the knot that held Richard's arms pulled high behind him.  
  
I managed to get my name out before Jeremy summed up my time since coming to England, in his own way.  
  
"So you're who's made a man of James in the last year, are you? I thought his balls had finally sprouted. You're American."

I nodded and took a drag from his cigarette.

"It's no wonder he didn't tell me, then. No matter, you haven't offered me cheese yet." He looked me up and down and I blushed as he nodded to himself. I had changed into a short lace skirt and a simple white tank top, no undergarments. I had certainly not been expecting Richard, let alone this man. He leaned around to look at my ass as he took his cigarette back and twiddled it between his fingers, making it dance, then he sighed heavily, staring at my breasts.

"Mindy will be devastated if she finds out. He really must tell her. This is quite serious. Of course, you can do nothing, these two cocks would never listen to the good sense of a woman. Although, you're here, how much good sense can you have?"  
  
I took no offense at his words, because he was right. "They're your friends, too."  
  
He smirked, "Yes, darling, but I get paid for it." He put his hands up. "No, don't tell me what you get from all this." He flicked his cigarette at James' car.  
  
The door opened behind him. Richard looked grey and refused to lift his eyes to either of us as he stepped aside to let us back in. Jeremy threw himself down in a chair and spread his hands.  
  
"Well! Questions: where have you been hiding her all this time? How long have you two been at each other's cocks, and Richard, what has your wife got to say?"  
  
Richard had his jeans back on and his shirt mostly buttoned. There was faint lines on his face from the tight gag. He sat down next to me out of habit, but kept himself from touching me when normally after he was untied he would have pulled me close until his heart was beating soft and steady again. He kept his eyes on his clasped hands as he spoke.  
  
"She doesn't know, Jeremy, you know that, do you even have to ask? If she finds out from you—" he began tensely.  
  
"Oh, calm down. Threaten me, pff. I won't say a thing, but she'll find out eventually. Nothing can be a secret forever. Trust me, I know. And no, wait, let me guess," he put a finger to his lips, blue eyes shifting between the two men. James stared back at him coldly, mouth twisted.  
  
"Just about two years now, hm? That's when Dick here stopped the yayo, isn't it? Part of a deal, I imagine. Fine, fine." He seemed to dismiss them and swung his gaze around to me. "The mysterious girl in the pictures, then. Have they kept you tied up in here or what?"  
  
"They don't _have_ to keep me tied," I said impulsively. The compliment melted James a bit and he leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. He stifled the smile and scowled as Jeremy laughed again.  
  
"This is too fucking much for me. James, where's your gin? I'm going to sit here and drink until this all seems reasonable." He lurched to his feet and stepped to Richard, slapping him lightly on the cheek twice. Richard jumped at the contact, finally looking up at Jeremy towering over him.  
  
"Chin up! You're a braver man than I, letting this lunatic do what he wilt with you."  
  
He didn't ask Richard or I if we wanted anything, though he brought a drink to James. He made Richard move from next to me however and insisted I help him with his. It was hard to tell from his demeanour if he was being dominant on purpose, but whether he was or not, by the second drink, James looked annoyed again. Jeremy rallied questions at me long enough I admitted finally I felt a little cooped up.  
  
"James," Jeremy put on an excited look. "Why don't you bring her on some of our shoots? The crew will love her and she'll be away from anyone who cares what you two are doing. Oh, that's a splendid idea, I'll write it up and tell Andy we'll have a guest!" He ignored whatever James had to say about it, turning his back to him and focusing on me. "Darling, have you ever seen Germany or the French Alps? You'll have such a grand time, and the hotels, oh!"  
  
He had me giggling, almost in tears, by his third drink and even Richard looked a little more relaxed, curled in a chair watching us. Colour had come back to his face and though he was mostly silent, when Jeremy suggested I go on location with them he looked pleased. He also looked distracted, confused. It dawned on me this was the first time a session with James had been interrupted, this was the first time Richard hadn't been taken full circle. He picked absently at the cuff of his shirt and shifted around in the chair a few times and I knew after watching him covertly he was hiding an erection and trying to keep his mind on anything else, but his eyes kept straying to James. He caught me watching him watch James, blushed and ducked his head. Jeremy had taken notice as well.  
  
"Say, Richard, you look a little bored. Do get up and make me another."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"You will. James, tell him."  
  
I was surprised when James didn't even pause to consider, but he knew picking on Richard would be too much for Jeremy to resist. And James knew the more Jeremy understood what was going on, the more involved he became with it, the less trouble he was likely to cause. Jeremy would either ignore what he'd seen today if it bored him, or he would help protect something he found exciting for his own purely selfish interest. James knew there was no sense in trying to hold him back from deciding between the two.  
  
"Go on, get the man his drink." James gestured lazily.  
  
Richard's face fell and for a moment I thought he would not do it. Finally, he rose slowly and walked almost heel to toe to us and stood as though before his executioner. He put his hand out stiffly, but Jeremy made him look up and reach for the glass, holding it slightly in front of me. He put his other arm behind me, seeing if he could get a rise out of Richard that way, too. He seemed to ignore the gesture but I was left in Jeremy's embrace as he backed away and turned. Jeremy put his ankle on his knee and I felt fenced in and I was acutely aware Richard wasn't the only novelty here. But Jeremy was decidedly easy on me; I was to find him chivalrous, though opportunistic. And while Richard had seemed indifferent to Jeremy's closeness to me, James looked ready to come out of his chair. This was a battle of wills and boundaries only feigned and glanced at in their relationship until now. Jeremy leaned in close to me and I loved his curly eyelashes. Everything about him had the oddest charm, even when one thing didn't necessarily compliment another.  
  
"I rather like that. He's so useless unless he's in an engine. Daft thing needs to be told what to do is all." Though James had asked me not to, I'd watched their show and was glad I had, otherwise Jeremy's presence would have been overwhelming. There was just so much of him! His bone structure amazed me and I found myself wondering how much heavier his skull was than mine. He used his body as a shield to annoy James, blocking me from his line of sight.  
  
"Do you like documentaries?" he asked quietly, hoping James thought we were discussing something much more delicate.  
  
"I love David Attenborough!" I whispered, playing along. He squeezed my arm excitedly, brushing my breast.  
  
"Oh, me too! Watch them with me daughter. Have you seen The Life of Birds is on?"  
  
Richard returned with the drink and Jeremy barely turned from me to tell him to set it down. As he did, Jeremy said casually over his shoulder, "What was that thing he had on when I came in, James? I would like to see that again, I think. Curiosity's sake."  
  
This time Richard whirled around to James first. "No!"  
  
"Now, it's not like he said you had to wear it." James looked unmoved.  
  
"Oh, but wouldn't it make more sense to me that way?" Jeremy was looking at me as he spoke, playing with a strand of my hair thoughtfully. Richard balled up his fists.  
  
"James, you can't do this —"  
  
"He is the one with your picture," James reminded him.  
  
"That's right!" Jeremy said as if he'd forgotten.  
  
Richard brought his hands to his face and stood in front of us all, trembling and agitated. Jeremy even turned to watch him, though he kept a hand in my hair. Richard rubbed his face slowly and when he dropped his hands he looked dazed. He was breathing shallowly, his long lidded eyes unfocused and twitching. Jeremy's hand tightened and pulled on my scalp slightly and his own eyes narrowed; he was witnessing something new and it had his attention, and I thought of the first time I'd seen Richard, how captivated I had been. Jeremy's thoughts almost stirred the air around him but before he could voice any other demands, Richard made a choice. He padded across the house and into the bedroom. Jeremy took the moment to eyeball James and take a huge swallow of his drink. He stretched his legs out and settled back, giving me one last appraising glance. I seemed to pass.  
  
Richard carried the sleeve in his palms and presented it, head down, to James. He could not put it on by himself. Jeremy raised his hand. "Oh, can she put it on 'im?" he asked, nonchalant.  
  
My mouth popped open and I looked quickly to James. Being witness to Richard's humiliation was bad enough, I didn't want to participate in it and my heart sank when James dropped the sleeve to the floor at his feet and leaned back. Jeremy smiled congenially at me but didn't move his legs so I had to get up carefully. I think he just wanted to smell me as my legs parted to step over him. The gin had made me lightheaded and my fingertips cold and Richard's flesh bumped up as I unbuttoned his shirt, rather than ask him to take it off. I pushed it from his shoulders and since I could and wanted to and knew no one would stop me, that I was doing this to put on a show of sorts, I caressed him lightly from his fingertips to his shoulders, along his neck and down his chest, brushing his stomach and scratching his back before finally lifting his chin, forcing his mouth open with my tongue. He gave in, surprised, and I kissed him for all the times I'd wanted to but wasn't able; all the times he'd been a breath away, unable to feel because of leather or rubber, all the times I'd wished to sooth his pain and ease his fears, for all the times he'd been a joy. When I broke the kiss he smiled for the first time that night. The smile curled mischievously and he slid his hands across my breasts and flicked open the snaps to my shirt. He cocked a 'fair's fair' eyebrow at me, but kept his eyes on mine, leaving those fully clothed to decide where to look. I was in heels, not too high and square, but I was still taller now than Richard. I spread my legs, finding my balance. I felt more relaxed now, half naked. I was still James' to command, and I let Richard's little act help me keep that in mind.  
  
"Pick it up, please." I pointed to the sleeve.  
  
Richard bit his lip and knelt, eyes still on me, and held it up. I took it and a step back so he could prostrate himself. I squatted over his head, legs open and I'm sure Jeremy could see up my skirt. The leather was easy to fold around his arms. The industrial zipper pulled them tightly together and small buckles were closed to fortify it. I worked each strap under his arms and over his shoulders and he took a deep breath as I finished. I leaned back on my heels, hoping this was over.  
  
"Well, that's tidy," Jeremy drawled. "But what's it for?" He tried to look innocent, hiding his amusement behind his glass.  
  
"I could have just painted you a picture," Richard mumbled, sounding irritated.

Jeremy feigned offense. “But, I already have one of your paintings!” When he saw my surprised look, he whispered loudly, “It’s actually quite good.”

Richard shifted self-consciously and grimaced.  
  
James leaned forward over Richard. "Are you really trying to make this worse," he asked in amazement. He shook his head, then went to his room. I stayed crouched over Richard, touching his hair. Jeremy was watching us, smiling to himself slyly and I tried not to laugh again as he made a show of looking to make sure the door was now locked. James came back with a small black cloth bag with a drawstring top and a stainless steel spreader bar. He handed them both to me and sat down. The bar was horribly cold and heavy in my hand and the bag dragged at me, weighed down with what I had to do to Richard. James ignored my silent appeal to him and turned to Jeremy.  
  
"It's about leverage. Rather, the lack of it for him. A study of the human body under duress. Watching what he can do with muscles and balance and flexibility when he has to."  
  
Jeremy played with his tongue in his teeth and looked unconvinced but waved his hand at me to continue. I hesitated and Richard peered up at me. I looked at him helplessly, biting my lip. He put his forehead on the floor for a moment, then slowly raised himself onto his knees.  
  
"It's alright," he mumbled, forgiving me. He gave me a tiny, secret smile, then lowered his eyes to the ground, saving me from their spell.  
  
The bar in my hand was useless without ankle cuffs, so I set it down and opened the bag. The ball gag was at the top, but I reached past it and pulled up anything else first. A wide collar came out and I fitted it around his neck. I retrieved the ankle cuffs next. I moved on my knees behind him and attached one to either of his legs, pushing the material of his jeans out of the way, and reached back for the bar. He had to widen his stance to accommodate it and I used a small leash to clip the bottom of the sleeve on his arms to the D ring in the middle of the bar. He shifted back and forth, finding a comfortable position and I made him jump a little when I ran my hands over his bound shoulders and across his chest. He lifted his head slightly and smiled one last time, but kept his eyes on the floor. I hated the fact I now had to take the possibility of another smile away from him. I withdrew the gag and brought it slowly to his face. As I was sure he would, he cast an agonized glance at James, but found no quarter there. He accepted it into his mouth without a fight and I wished I'd kissed him again as I locked the gag tightly behind his head. He drew his lips back over his teeth for a moment and I could see his tongue working at the ball, and I envied what it must feel like to have it sliding over the hard flesh of a cock.  
  
There was something still in the bag, which turned into two things as I upended it gently. A long leash slithered out first, followed by a small wand. I knew it was an electric device, but I had not seen it before. I left the leash lying, not knowing why I needed it and getting no direction. The wand had an on switch and five adjustments. I clicked it on one and felt it come alive.  
  
"Touch it, show Jezza what it does," James' voice barely disturbed the silence; ice sliding through water. I hated these things and James knew it, but I tentatively put my fingertip to it and yelped as it shocked me, making the bones in my hand feel hot and as if they wanted to bend of their own accord. Jeremy grunted in surprise at my reaction. My hand stung and Richard was watching the instrument apprehensively, trying to prepare himself, but I could tell it wasn't working. He was overwhelmed. I felt James' eyes on me and I knew I had to do it. The first stroke across his chest caused Richard to flinch and he scooted a tiny bit away. I picked up the leash and clipped it to the front of his collar, wrapping it around my fist and holding him close. I touched him with the wand again, amazed at the way his skin rippled and crawled where contact was made. He jerked hard at the leash several times when I stroked his sensitive, ticklish sides below his ribs.  
  
"On three now," James said. Richard growled and bit down hard on the rubber between his teeth. I did as instructed and then studied him for a moment. His shoulders were wrenched back and the way the sleeve was latched to his legs kept his spine straight, hips forward. I could see the outline of his cock in his jeans already. I gripped his leash and touched his solar plexus. He snapped forward but the straps bit into his shoulders and held him upright. I tapped it slowly, inch by inch down his belly and he fought my hold on him. I reached around him and pressed the wand to his spine to stop his retreat and he wailed behind his gag. The wide collar kept him from throwing his head back or forward and his frustration at his immobility was obvious. I took the wand away from him and let him gather himself. He shuddered hard and closed his eyes tightly and tried to keep from glaring at me when he opened them, but failed. I jerked him forward into the wand, jamming it into his chest and he choked himself against his collar trying to double over. His dick was straining at his jeans now, his instinctual response to being handled this way overriding everything else. I stroked him through his jeans and deftly unbuttoned them, exposing the tender underside and, leaning down, I wet it with my tongue and sucked the fleshy head into my mouth, but Richard held himself rigid, knowing what was coming next. The shock to his frenulum, that tender spot where the head divides and the shaft meets it, sent him about half a foot from me somehow, the leash pulled from my hand.

Richard was glaring at me furiously again, breathing rapidly. He shook his head 'no' as I came to claim him. I felt a trickle of wetness slide down my thigh and I arched my back as I moved on hands and knees, wiggling my ass at Jeremy and James. Richard whimpered and the muscles in his belly flexed as I brushed his hip bones and the base of his cock with the wand. He tried to sidle away from me, spreader bar rattling, and frustrated and aroused I yanked on his leash, but it was impossible to hold him and hurt him and suck his cock like I wanted to. James always made handling him look effortless.  
  
There was movement behind me and I hoped it was James coming to my rescue, but it was Jeremy who took the leash. He scooped the wand from my grip as well, long fingers prying it out of my palm. Richard screamed loudly when Jeremy stuck it promptly to his ear. I knew why Jeremy had freed my hands and what was expected of me, and when I looked to James, he confirmed it. I had Richard down my throat in moments, gripping his jeans to keep him from jerking away as Jeremy held the electricity against his face and neck.  
  
"Oh, she does like you, doesn't she?" Jeremy commented, tapping Richard's face just under his tightly closed eyes. He wrapped the leash around his hand a few times and pulled up slowly, lifting Richard with his right hand. Richard groaned and thrashed as he was hung, but I kept my grip on him, sucking at his flesh and swirling my tongue and as his knees left the ground and he swung in Jeremy's grip, he came. I caught part of it in my mouth but as he lost consciousness his body tensed once, hard, and he popped out, spilling the rest on my lips and chin and loose hair. Jeremy held Richard in the air for a long moment, until I looked up at him. He gave me a feral smile, his eyes spinning, but he opened his hand finally and Richard dropped hard on his knees and teetered forward. I caught him and held him up as his eyes opened and the trapped blood drained from his face. It took him a moment to focus and when he discovered Jeremy's proximity to him he recoiled as if he'd been shocked again. Jeremy seemed pleased by his reaction and leaned in close to Richard's face.  
  
"You're lucky your mouth's all plugged up, you little shit," he growled into Richard's ear. "You owe me for not telling your wife she's married to a gimp."

I didn't think I was supposed to hear those words, and Jeremy gave me a withering look that confirmed it, but then his expression softened and he stepped back. Patting his pockets, he headed for the door and disappeared outside. I wiped at my face and looked at Richard. He looked like he wanted to curl up and die.

James spoke finally. "Thank you, Tara. Go have a wash up."

I bit back a smile when he thanked me; knowing I pleased him made any uncertainty disappear. It reassured me he was paying attention to me, and to Richard, who needed grounding still. Since James had brought him here, there'd been one bad turn for him after another, and Jeremy's words on his ringing ears had probably left him feeling lost and guilty. I walked slowly to the bathroom just so I could look over my shoulder to see James approach Richard, knowing he would not leave Richard in pain if he could help it. That was the duality of their relationship I loved so much, that seemed too surreal for waking life sometimes; whatever James put Richard through, it was, somehow, designed to help him, to calm him and ease his troubled mind in the end. Sometimes Richard had to be pulled through a mire, sometimes James seemed to thoroughly enjoy his agony, for a while. James wanted Richard whole more than he wanted him at his mercy.  
  
I took my time cleaning my hair and skin, wondering if Jeremy would let me smoke another cigarette. I straightened my clothes and wiped at the wetness between my legs and came out of the bathroom just as Jeremy came in the front door, talking on his cell phone.  
  
"Of course, of course. I know, it's best. You're such a doll, Mindy. It's all my fault, but you'll have him back in the morning. All my love, sweetheart, bye bye." Jeremy snapped the phone shut and met Richard's still mute, sullen look with a cheery smile.

"Well, you're off the hook with your darling wife for the night, and doesn't that just leave us time for all kinds of things? Don't worry, I told her I got you too drunk to be of any use; you'll have to feign a convincing hangover tomorrow, I imagine. But I thought to myself, it just doesn't seem right to leave this poor girl here," he gestured at me, "all wound up. You can't have all the fun. James, have you ever made her squirt? It's just fantastic!"  
  
James, still standing by Richard but not touching him, cocked his head, as if Jeremy had just asked him to compete in a simple rock throwing contest. "Why, no. I haven't. Hadn't really thought of it."  
  
Jeremy reclaimed his seat and rolled up his sleeves. "I can't call you boring and say that's why you haven't, you've obviously been very busy, but do you even know how? How to make a woman ejaculate, that is?"

James let a sinister smile creep across his face, and they both turned and looked at me.  
  
"Not exactly. I'm guessing you do, eh?"  
  
"I do!" Jeremy patted the seat next to him and smiled at me. "Come here, girl. Tell me, have you ever experienced a g-spot orgasm and what I hear on the internet is called squirting?"

I blushed and moved mechanically across the room towards him.  
  
"N-no..." I said warily, but I couldn't help smiling at Jeremy's earnest expression. I had to pass by James to get to the couch and I paused in front of him, standing so close my hard nipples brushed his shirt. I wanted him to touch me, but knew he wouldn't, and he didn't. But I wasn't going to go to Jeremy without his approval. Richard was still kneeling on the floor at his side, but I tried to ignore him, not wanting to bring anymore attention to him in his vulnerable position. I hoped at least I could distract Jeremy enough that he would leave Richard alone and perhaps James would release him. James eyes moved over me but he was somewhere else for a moment, and I knew he was trying to calculate the possibilities of where this might end up if he let Jeremy continue to make demands.  
  
"He's waiting," he finally said, lips barely moving. I moved away from them and into this stranger's grasp. As I neared the couch he put his arms out and his hands on my thighs and slid my skirt up to my hips, then gripped me and swung me around to sit on the couch next to him. My pussy was swollen, the tip of my clit was just sticking out past my labia. He ran a long finger along the slit from bottom to top, making a small circular movement over the hood. I sighed with pleasure and opened my legs. He cupped my crotch, working his fingers between my cheeks to caress the bud there. He spent a moment there before he pushed my legs farther apart.  
  
"Now, just look here at me. Forget about them, they don't exist. Just you and I." He was rubbing the insides of my thighs as he spoke, thumbs just brushing my pussy, teasing. "I want to know everything you feel. Focus on me and let me make you feel good," he said, voice low and hypnotic, his eyes on my lips, letting me stare at him without feeling self conscious. He scooted in close to me and cupped my wet cunt with his right hand, massaging it with his palm. His touch was so different than James'. While never hesitant, James followed my ques as to what made me excited. Jeremy seemed to know exactly where to apply pressure or stroke gently and it was as if he knew a moment before I did when to change his touch so when he finally slid two of his fingers into me I gasped in surprise but it felt so good I couldn't help pushing back.  
  
"Thatta a girl," he encouraged, moving his hand in a circular motion. "Do you know anything about this?"

I nodded, breath coming faster.

"Good, so I'll be stroking up here," he flipped his palm up and pressed firmly against the top of my vagina. For a second I felt as if I had a full bladder, but a hot wave of pleasure erupted and overwhelmed that sensation. He seemed to read my mind.  
  
"You'll feel a wee coming on and you will have to push, but don't worry, it's different plumbing."

I wanted to laugh but only managed a small shuddering cry as he sped up the motion of his hand and I felt the tips of his fingers curl slightly inside me.  
  
"Oh, fuck!" I moaned and slid to the edge of the couch, opening my legs wide. The pressure felt amazing and I was so turned on soon I was grinding against his hand. My breasts felt heavy and full and I pushed them together from the sides, pulling on the bars through my nipples.  
  
"Feels good, does it?" I nodded my head, open mouthed. "Touch yourself. I want you to come on my hand. Tell me when you're ready. Keep your legs spread," he cautioned as my thighs shook as my fingers found my clit. The pressure inside me was insistent and his hand slapped wetly in my cunt. I already felt excited enough to come but his fingers inside me were almost distracting, creating an itch somewhere my brain had never taken notice of before, and it wanted relief. I rubbed harder and cursed again. Jeremy fingered me faster and harder, and I felt like my body was being hung from his two fingers. That vision, of being hooked and suspended by a spot so intimate and pleasurable, finally brought me to orgasm. I screamed, I couldn't help it, and Jeremy pressed even harder and pulled his curled fingers out of my cunt, somehow dragging with them a hot, powerful rush of ecstasy and as he pulled his hand away, fluid poured out of me, splattering on the floor for several feet in front of me.  
  
"Bravo!" Jeremy whispered to me, his face flushed. He patted my sensitive pussy and laughed as my knees snapped closed, trapping his hand. He slipped his fingers back inside me and my body sucked them in hungrily. He pushed in much deeper than before, grinding the heel of his hand into my swollen clit and I moaned as a second, almost painful orgasm came. I arched up off the couch, eyes clenched shut. I opened them when I felt him withdraw from me and pry my knees apart.

James had taken off his leather belt and looped it around Richard's neck and led him to me. He was free of the ball gag and red sheath and was now naked as well, his hard cock standing out from his lean body. James forced him to his knees in front of me and drug him forward. Richard's eyes were on me, carefully avoiding looking at Jeremy who hadn't moved from his spot next to me. I didn't care who was watching and reached up to pull Richard to me. I slid my hand between us and guided him into me, hooking the heels of my shoes on the edge of the couch so I could arch up until his hips were sealed against mine. He let out his breath on my cheek and I saw the belt tighten around his neck. He braced himself with his hands and, seemingly oblivious to James, fucked me with short, deep thrusts. I loved being connected to him this way, lips pressed to each other's, our hot sexes working together, giving and taking. I felt like I was falling with him, and there was no bottom to end our pleasure.

James jerked the belt, tightening it so Richard's face was going more red by the second. He finally reacted, hissing and arching his back and I gripped his ass to keep him from sliding out of me.  
  
I heard James drop the belt to the floor and then he was kneeling on the couch next to me. He put a hand to my head and guided my mouth to him. I could hardly move in the position I was in, curled almost on my back, Richard pinning the bottom half of my body. James didn't seem to mind doing the work and in moments his thick shaft was sliding in my mouth and sealing my throat. He jammed his cock in and out rapidly until my eyes were watering and I was gagging more than breathing, my nose buried in his pubic hair. I distantly noticed Richard had gone still inside me. His cock pulsed and I heard him retch once and then emit a muffled moan. I couldn't see anything, James' body blocked everything from my view, but I knew Jeremy wasn't sitting next to me anymore. I tried to relax and allow James as far into my throat as he wanted to go and I rolled my hips, slipping up and down on Richard's cock, thinking to distract him perhaps, but I couldn't keep it up as James pounded into my mouth. I tried to push him away, my hands on his hips, but he had too much purchase. His hand went behind my head again and he held me still as the head of his cock bulged in my throat.  
  
"Oh, fantastic!" I heard Jeremy exclaim and Richard coughed again and I felt his hands grip the top of my thighs and pull me hard against him, and then James pinned my head to the couch as he came down my throat. I didn't even have to swallow, he simply emptied himself into my stomach and then I could breathe once more.

James flopped over onto the couch next to me and I could finally see Richard. His mouth was open and wet, his nearly black eyes teared up, face flushed. He looked beautiful and used and excited. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me, kissing his hot mouth, sucking at his salty tongue, the taste of another man on him making me desperately aroused. I whined and arched my body under his and he smiled at me, wickedly. He hooked his arms under my bent knees and pushed them down almost to my ears, holding himself up on my thighs. I clutched at his shoulders, trying not to scratch him. Wanting him and having to be careful with him was so confusing to my senses sometimes!

James reached over and tweaked the bars in my nipples and combined with Richard's hard thrusts, the sensation made me come again. There was nowhere to go. I screamed, twisting in James' grip and Richard growled, tightening his hold on me and slamming into me harder. I could only pant and moan as Richard pistoned in and out of me and James tormented my breasts. I had no resistance to offer, my body merely a thing from which they were wringing their pleasure. Richard fucked me for what seemed like an eternity, his balls already having been drained once, and we were both drenched in sweat when I finally felt him dig his fingers into my thighs and he dropped his forehead to mine and growled again as he came inside me. He collapsed onto me for a moment to catch his breath, but slid to his knees when I struggled, his dead weight crushing me. I thrashed again when I felt his hot tongue on my cunt as he lapped at my juices and his come. I was so sensitive I wanted to scream, but I held my trembling legs open and let him push his tongue into me.  
  
"Are you fucking smoking in my house?" James snapped and Richard and I both jumped. Jeremy was sitting across from us, ashing in a cup, his cock hidden but his pants still undone.  
  
"Well, I suppose if these little perverts can put some clothes on you could open a window," he drawled, eyeing Richard and I. James made a disgusted noise but before he could argue I jumped up and retrieved my blouse from the floor by Jeremy's feet and pulled my skirt back into place. I put my hand out to Jeremy.  
  
"May I have a cigarette?" I asked.  
  
"Of course, my dear!" He slipped one out of the pack and handed it to me. I put it to my lips and offered him my hand again.

"It's too hot in here, come outside and smoke with me?"

He took my fingers in his and stood.  
  
"Now see, that's how to motivate me. You win, James, but only because of your unbelievably sexy girlfriend here."  
  
We stepped outside. It was fully dark now and the air was lazy and cool. I shivered a little as the sweat dried on my skin but I felt exhilarated and warm inside. Jeremy lit my cigarette and, as I was almost sure he would, he spoke.  
  
"That's just going to drive Richard mad. Is that bad of me? No, I don't care, I've always wanted to. Damn smile..." he trailed off, watching headlights in the distance.

Then, "I've noticed, you know, over the years. I have to say this seems to suit them. I thought Richard was bound to end up dead there for a time. Binges with drink and drugs, even exercise. Always had this desperate look to him. But he just cleared up all at once. I didn't know what had changed." He took a long drag. "I do now, I suppose. And we're all in trouble."

He pointed the cherry at me. "Even you. Don't look at me like 'what?' You actually came here in the middle of their ill-advised and tragic orgy. You might be the worst of the bunch, I can't tell yet! Oh, come on, don't look so shocked. No wonder you 'aven't met me before now, eh?" He laughed and put an arm around me to pull me close before I had a chance to defend myself. "I know, I know. It isn't your fault. I'm sorry. I need another gin. Oh, how can this be better than so many things, and worse? You're really going to stay with James?"  
  
The thought made me smile. "Yes."  
  
"He loves you." His short, lit cigarette sailed into the night to join the other by James' car.  
  
"Richard thinks so, too."  
  
"James has never said it? No? Well, if he lets you near him he must like you more than he likes anyone else. That might be love to him."  
  
I put my cigarette out on the step. "He and I are a lot a like, really."  
  
"Ugh, don't say that. I was just starting to like you." He opened the door for me. I paused in front of him before going in.  
  
"Thank you. And it's nice to meet you, finally."  
  
"My pleasure, completely. I didn't want to seem rude, after all."

I laughed. I couldn't count the times James had come home cursing this man or the hours he spent scribbling drawings and numbers simply to beat Jeremy at something or prove him wrong. But I could see him as the perfect foil for James' admittedly uptight nature. And actually, James looked more relaxed than I expected when I was back in his house. He was in the kitchen, having anticipated Jeremy's needs. I walked past him to wash my hands but James cut Jeremy off.  
  
"Please don't ever do that again," he said quietly.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Any of it!" he hissed. I quietly made moves towards dinner for a reason to stay in the kitchen.  
  
"Now, what was I supposed to do? Go home and poke my eyes out? What has been seen, James, cannot be unseen. That's from the internet as well. You're lucky it was me at your door and not some weirdo. Look, I'm not going to start dating you two homos, for god's sake."  
  
"Bloody hell, Jeremy—"  
  
"Did I laugh? No. No, I understand, and even appreciate how serious this is to you. It's all very endearing to be quite honest. I still think lying to Mindy is shit," he said over his shoulder, loudly so Richard could hear, wherever he had gone off to. "But call this unexpected...visit...my seal of approval, James. And after tonight, let's try never to speak of it."

He poured his drink down his throat and stared at James, straight-faced. James narrowed his eyes and stared back for a long moment before giving a nod, shaggy hair falling over his face.  
  
"Good, then. Oh, she cooks, too?" Jeremy asked.  
  
"Indeed. Do you need any help, Tara? Where's Richard, he could learn something." James walked off before I could stop him, and Jeremy picked up the bottle of gin, winked at me and followed him. Richard appeared almost instantly and I knew he was trying to avoid Jeremy. I also knew he was just about useless in the kitchen.  
  
"Sit on the counter, you can just watch," I pointed to a space where he would be out of my way but unable to be seen from the other room.  
  
"I always want to watch you," he said and hopped up. He leaned against the cupboard and swung his bare feet idly, following my movements with half-closed eyes. It wasn't long before I had pasta cooking and vegetables sliced, roasting in the oven.  
  
"Oh, fancy!" he commented as I made a thin herbal wine sauce with mushrooms soaking up the butter. I was explaining what I was doing when Jeremy came back into the kitchen, seeking a new bottle of tonic water. Richard hunched over like he wanted to disappear into the countertop. Jeremy rolled his eyes.  
  
"You're going to have to talk to me eventually."  
  
"No, I won't," Richard said, staring at the floor.  
  
"Oh, stop it! Richard," his voice softened unexpectedly, and Richard looked up at him, surprised. "I won't tell your wife, though I think you should. I won't let on, you have my word, alright?"  
  
"Thank you," Richard said, genuinely relieved.  
  
"No, thank you!" Jeremy mocked, rubbing suggestively along the sides of his mouth. Richard blushed scarlet and dropped his head. Jeremy crowed with laughter and disappeared with his tonic. Richard was silent for several minutes, and I waited patiently for him to speak.  
  
"I'm so afraid, Tara," he said quietly. "I feel like I'm two people sometimes. I want to be whole, but I'm afraid nothing will fit and it will all shatter apart."  
  
"Have you tried telling her?"  
  
He shrugged. "A long time ago, you know how couples talk. I made mention of it somehow and she said she didn't understand "those kinds of people". I left it at that."  
  
"Perhaps if she knew what you were getting at..?"  
  
He rubbed his face, distressed. "Perhaps," he said, noncommittally. "But after so long? Would you be angry if you found out?" He looked at me hopefully.  
  
"If she loves you, she'll forgive you."  
  
"It is that simple, isn't it? And if she despises me, she'll leave me and that whole part of my life will be ruined. Probably all of it." He rubbed his face again, then looked guiltily at me. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. It's just... Jeremy is right. I've been thinking about it a lot lately." He watched me make plates and pour sauce, then slipped off the counter to help me carry them, but stopped me by catching my hands in his before I picked the plates up. He held them gently, knowing I was sensitive, but his touch was never unnerving to me, never alien. I wanted his touch like I had never wanted any others before him. "I know I don't have to say it, I know you know. I don't want to lose this. I love the way I feel around you, Tara. I'm so glad you're here. With James." I knew he was going to say it, it was in his eyes and on his lips before there was any sound, and wrapped in his voice it made me want to weep. "I love you. I know this is hard for you, too. I know you worry about me. Thank you for caring at all. I can't fathom why you do, but I'm grateful for it. I want you to know I do love you."  
  
"I love you, too." I whispered and he kissed me, then wrapped his arms around me and held me for a long moment. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, committing to memory the mixture of motor oil and sweat and that spicy-sweet, unidentifiable note.  
  
"Come on," I said and disengaged myself, wiping at my eyes. "Let's feed the beasts."

He smiled finally and we were greeted just a little drunkenly by James and Jeremy. The food was well received and complimented, and I watched Richard covertly the whole time and was relieved to see him come back to life after a while. By the time I cleared away the plates, they were bickering about cars. British men yelling about horsepower was almost incomprehensible to me and I slipped away from them and showered and retreated to my room, exhausted. Richard's admission to me kept repeating in my ears, drowning out the impossible argument in the other room.  
  
I fell into a fitful sleep and my dreams disturbed me; I jolted awake. I could hear James talking fast and thumping the table and Jeremy laughing and then the door opened and Richard's silhouette appeared. He moved silently towards me, shedding his clothes as he came. He smelled of wine and I wondered how long I had been asleep. I felt his fingers searching for my face and his lips followed when he found me. The dread from my dream was still making my blood race and I pulled him tightly against me, needing the solidity of his body. His hands were cold and sent shivers across my skin as he caressed my breasts and slipped them around my neck and into my hair. He pushed me flat on my back and covered my body with his and I could feel his erection nudging at my legs, insistent. I spread my thighs and he pushed into me without hesitation.  
  
It was the first time he made love with me unrestrained, undirected. The first time I felt only his will exerted on my body. He held my forearms above my head and whispered he loved me over and over in my ear, against my lips and into my hair, pumping into me and grinding his hips against mine. I whimpered in wordless pleasure at his long, purposeful thrusts and pauses deep inside me and he clamped his hand across my mouth as the noises became louder and he fucked me harder. I struggled just to feel him hold me tighter, to have him control me and take his pleasure. I thought of his wife; these were the things she felt with him, this was the man she knew. Free to act as he wished. She felt the pure affection he had for her, a love innocent of his selfish desires. I wanted that, his simple tenderness, and my body responded, legs wrapping around his hips and I tried to free my hands but he had them pinned with his arm. His fingers pressed down on my lips and his words slipped into my ear from a breath away.  
  
"Lover... I love you. My sister in pain."  
  
But never his wife, and his words hurt me. I wanted to sob, but I willed my wetness to where it mattered, where we were one. I could only have him this way, torn.  
  
"Little sister," the whisper came again, snake-like. He pressed kisses to my eyelids and ears and neck. "You're so, so beautiful. I wish I could bring you home... I wish I could be with you... Oh, Tara, I wish she could know—ah, fuck!—she could see you..."

He was slamming into me, barely withdrawing before burying himself in me and I was seconds from orgasm. He could feel it.

"Are you going to come for me? You can get enough of my cock. I've never had a woman so hungry for me, so willing to do anything for it." He slowed his thrusts to a gentle stir and pulled my hands down between us. "I want to feel you. No pain," he breathed. He took his hand slowly away from my mouth, his lips replacing them.

"No screaming. James isn't here to hurt us."

His cock felt hot and solid inside me and I brushed my fingertips across my clit, aware of every instance of our bodies touching.

"No pain, you've hurt so much for me, thank you."

His lips were on my breasts, pulling and sucking at my flesh and he said he loved me again and I made myself come around him, the muscles of my pussy milking his cock and I wrapped my arms around him, dragging him down onto me. I felt inside out. I laughed against his lips even as tears spilled from my eyes. I wanted this moment with him to last forever and I wanted it never to have happened, I wanted never to have heard him say he loved me or longed for me and I felt like a part of my heart would have died if I'd never heard those words. All I could do was twine my arms around him and hold on, grab his face and kiss him hard whenever he pulled away to breathe. I gave myself to him as much as I could, which would never be enough for him. I thought then that no one person would ever be enough for him and to love him I would always have to share him; with his friends, with his wife, his children, which was something else he could never have had with me. I was not enough. But he could have as much of me as he could take. But not all of me, not what belonged to James, and for a moment I hated them both for pulling me into so many pieces, and I knew I had never been more happy.

Richard shuddered and jerked his head away as I giggled and moaned against him, feeling giddy and desperate. He came, pulling my hips up, lips pressed into my neck to muffle his cry, and collapsed on me, quivering. When he rolled off and away from me, I grabbed him, keeping him from escaping. I knew James would find us, that he might punish us for being together like this, but I somehow doubted it. This night had been enough of a punishment for us all, and there was Jeremy to worry about now, too. Richard didn't struggle, instead he gave a drunken giggle and flung his arms around me and was asleep within a few heartbeats. Once my pulse slowed and I could hear over its pounding, I could make out James and Jeremy talking in the other room.  
  
"Oh, quit being so reticent," Jeremy complained. "For once I actually want to hear you talk! Go on, I am more curious than I'm comfortable with, and you know I won't let it alone 'til you tell it."  
  
"You're like my fucking sisters, nosy."  
  
"I'll just make it up then. You ran into him in a gay bar bathroom?"  
  
"You're an asshole."  
  
"What, love at first sight, was it?"  
  
"Oh, cock. I was at his house—"  
  
"Castle," Jeremy corrected, laughing.  
  
"I know, right? He's absurd. At least it doesn't have to be huge to be a castle to him." And they both laughed, but it was an affectionate sound. I shook Richard. There was no response, so I pinched him.  
  
"Ow. Why?" he mumbled without opening his eyes.  
  
"Do you live in a castle?"  
  
"Sshh. I do! It's grand. Not real. Mock up, but stone and all. My girls love it."  
  
"—had kittens," James was talking slowly, and I imagined him there, looking at his drink, running his hand through his hair to pull it down, to hide in it. "Mindy wanted me to have one, to come and pick one out. I stayed for lunch, we had a drink or two, he and I, and he just became fidgety. Pissed off. You know how he would get. Go off by himself, smoke a lot. Mindy ignored it for a good while."  
  
"So she knew something was amiss, then?"  
  
"I suppose so. She got quiet-like. Bewildered. She left though, to get the kids, I guess. Don't remember. He started arguing with me about some damn thing, I don't know. Motorcycles, I think. Got in my face all of a sudden, surprised the shit out of me. I told him to fuck off and mind his personal space. I wasn't even mad, just baffled. He flipped like a switch then, totally shut down. Sort of staring off..." There was a long moment of quiet, and I heard Jeremy light a cigarette. James didn't complain, either too drunk or too preoccupied in his memories to care. Jeremy coughed, prompting James out of his silence.  
  
"Richard... I thought he was going to punch me, the way he came at me, but he went down on his knees and put a hand on my plums. I knew he wanted me to hit _him_."  
  
"I would've. Probably. Did you?"  
  
"No. I grabbed his hand, then his throat, and, oh, I don't know how it happened, he just gave me this look. Shocked, excited. Hopeful? I got carried away, I suppose. I hit him then, just a slap, to see what it was he thought he was doing, exactly. If that's what he really wanted."  
  
"Apparently it was." Jeremy's voice had a curious edge to it. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again he sounded himself. "Smacking him was probably like giving food to a stray cat, you know. If you'd popped him in the nose —"  
  
"If I had, he'd probably be dead by now. Remember when I had to talk his way out of those Marines? They wanted to pummel him! Always trying to start fights, looking to get himself killed, I imagine now, or fight this out of his system. He was a fucking wreck, wasn't he? Even Mindy seems better than she was. Doesn't have to deal with his manic bullshit so much, I imagine."  
  
"True. How he ever landed that little lady is utterly beyond me. Though, he does possess some attributes I was unaware of before tonight. But you did...that...in her home the first time? Really, James."  
  
"Did not, thank you. I mean, I did smack him around a bit. For a while. Told him to start coming here. Discretion and rules, things he has a hard time with, had to be adhered to. But he seemed himself by the time she came back."  
  
"How the hell did you face her? You are a nutter, aren't you? He's just kinky. And gay, possibly. But you're fucking crazy to stick around after that! What if he'd just spilled it to her right there?"  
  
"Said he wouldn't, and I believed him. Said a lot of things, really, and anyway, at that point we both had to trust each other."  
  
"Uck, no more specifics, please. Fair enough, fair enough. But like I said, Mindy will find out, don't you think?"  
  
"I don't know. Up to him, mostly."  
  
"And if it's not bad enough with just you two, what about that girl in there?"  
  
"Tara's not any trouble."  
  
"What's she getting from this?"

I thought the question had been a joke when he'd asked it earlier. James’ answer was a murmur.  
  
“Do you love her, James?” There was a long pause. “Do you?”  
  
“How can I when I do what I do to them?”  
  
“What the fuck does that mean?”  
  
“It’s incompatible, isn’t it? Love shouldn’t be brutal.”  
  
“What if that’s what she wants it to be? Listen to what you just said; are you going to make her ask you to tell her you love her?”  
  
I heard a bottle fall and bounce, the noise painfully sharp and loud, but it didn’t break and Jezza scoffed at James, then he spoke again.  
  
“I have to wonder who’s whipping who here.”  
  
James laughed, but didn't offer a rebuttal. Their conversation shifted and I listened half-heartedly, digesting what I'd heard. Did I need James to tell me he loved me? I wasn’t sure, but I understood his confusion now. It did seem incongruous when you thought too much about it, about what we were doing, what went on in our daily lives, and what most would define as a loving partnership. But it was what I wanted. And it was obviously what Richard wanted.

He was sweating in my arms and I quietly got out of bed and opened the window into the back garden, letting the midnight breeze cool the room and I used my discarded shirt to gently mop the trickles before he could soak the bed, then I sat, just looking at him. He was adorable, so boyish and innocent in appearance, with his over-large eyes, smooth, hairless chest, ropy muscles, his sweet smile and curling lips, and I understood why James had not pushed him away that first time. He had a personality to match his appearance. So full of life and energy, so clever and quick witted. James, though he tried to hide it, loved people, especially those who tried. Who didn't shy from work, who played hard, who loved to learn, and Richard was all of these things and more. That Richard had tried, had followed through with his actions that day, had garnered James' respect probably far more than it had stirred lust or dominance in him. I lay down alongside him, loving him all the more for what I knew James saw in him, and loving James for his strangely kind, intense care for us both. His love.  
  
Jeremy woke us in the morning. It was early still, but the day was bright and beautiful and Richard groaned painfully when Jeremy opened the blinds and flicked the light on.  
  
"That's right, shit head, hold that pose 'til I get you home to your wife. At least you don't have to pretend you drank too much. Come on, get up! Not you, darling, you stay right there." Jeremy grinned at me, ignoring Richard wobbling to his feet and searching for his clothes. "Slept well, I hope. I brought you and James some breakfast—had to eat, sober up. Get you something on your way, if you can stomach it," he snickered at Richard's grimace. "Fuck, hurry up! I have important shit to do."  
  
"Oh, fuck you, you intolerable ogre," Richard moaned. He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "I remember last night," he whispered, smiling. He kissed me again and slipped out of the room.  
  
"Thank you, Tara, for an eventful, interesting evening. I would say I hope we can do it again sometimes, but I won't. We'll see you later though, for certain!" He bowed a little, winked at me, and followed Richard. I lazed in bed for a little while, listening to them quietly making to leave, and when the front door was shut finally, I slipped out of bed and into the living room. James was sleeping on the couch, and I pulled my little, soft rug to the floor next to him, and curled up. I felt his hand come down on my shoulder and rest there, and I drifted back to sleep, happy.

Summer came and almost went and James was called away for a couple of days, a dispute with his book publisher. I kissed him goodbye when he wasn't muttering 'rubbish' and 'despoiler' and the door had barely closed behind him when Richard called and said he would be seeing me soon.

It was a strange at first, to be alone with him in James' house without James and we were both a little nervous, too-polite and jittery, until Richard suggested we take off on the motorcycle he and James had finished building. It had taken them longer than James had anticipated to put the Honda together, mostly because every time Richard disagreed with James, James put him in the corner. Richard was prone to temper tantrums, I learned. He would throw things, curse loud and long, storm about, and for a while James would let him. I took to peeking around the door just to watch, concerned at first, but amused by it all eventually. James would fold his arms, lean back, and talk over Richard's complaints and arguments, ignore the tools clattering as Richard slammed his fist down on the bench and told James how wrong he was about whatever it was that had started the day's row, and then, two minutes in or ten, like a striking snake, James would catch Richard by his wrist, his shirt, his face, or his hair, whatever was closest to him and push him into the corner of the garage and tell him to shut his mouth and calm down. Sometimes, in the silence that was grudgingly kept, James would actually follow Richard's advice—shouted at him or not—or he would ignore it, but the bike eventually rumbled to life one day. I heard it from my room and hurried to the garage to congratulate them. Richard was tied to the trembling machine, his grin barely concealed by the bandanna through his teeth. His hands were behind him and he was leaning on them, the ropes around his wrists leading down to his ankles and then crossed over his thighs and the tank.

"Oh, good. I was just coming to get you."

I squeaked as James caught me around the waist from behind. He lifted the hem of my short skirt with one hand and with the other yanked my thin panties away. He hauled me to Richard and the bike and pushed me forward into Richard's lap. The cold concrete floor made my toes ache momentarily, but I didn't notice when they stopped hurting as I was too busy feeling James' tongue lapping between my cleft. I arched my back and spread my legs more, and he sucked and licked me until I was gasping and giggling. When he turned and lifted me onto his cock, I could only hold on tight around his neck as he fucked me. He came quickly, and my thighs were slick and dripping as I stood on trembling legs while he pulled open the front of Richard's jeans. The garage was closed and the air was becoming thick with exhaust fumes. James picked me up again, this time setting me over Richard's lap. I wiggled onto his hard cock, leaning forward to grasp the handle bars. I stood on my toes on the footpegs and bounced my ass over him, making the bike wobble a bit. James took hold of the bars, occasionally revving the bike so high I could feel the vibration in my bones and we made Richard come like that on their new toy.

That same vibration hummed through me now as I held Richard and we shot down some quiet lane an hour outside of Hammersmith. I tried not to hold on too tightly, like Richard had taught me, but I was honestly afraid of riding the motorcycle and was shaking when we finally stopped. Richard leaned the bike behind a tree and we scrambled to the top of a grassy hill. It was as hot as it was going to get, summer giving us one final and rare clear, warm day. We ate, laughed, threw cookies at each other, and Richard lay back on the blanket and said he might have a nap. I was reading, propped up on the backpack, when he spoke a few minutes later, however.

"I love you. Are you French? You're so pretty."

I glanced up at him. He was stretched out on his back, using his leather jacket as a pillow, his arm behind his head. He'd pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead and was watching me. His shirt had pulled up and a line of muscle along his belly was exposed and I wanted to kiss the sun-heated flesh.

"I love you, too," I said. I wondered what James' lips would look like forming those words. I knew what Richard looked like, and how he looked now, after having said it, and my breath caught in my chest as I met his eyes.

"Granger," I managed, and his lips curled at the edges as he recognised the effect he had on me, staring that way. I swallowed and set _A Storm of Swords_ aside. "My mother's maiden name was Granger. She was born in Quebec, and both of her parents were from Lyon. How did you know?"

"I told you. You're beautiful. You have a very French face. Your mouth, your lips. Your eyes, especially."

"Well, thank you. I hadn't thought much about it, but I haven't seen many French people, either."

Richard sat up and began plucking at the daisies around us, using his fingernails to carefully split the stems.

"France is quite lovely, the parks especially, fantastic places to run and bike, if you can avoid all the dog shit. There are couples out all hours of the day. Early morning lovers going about quiet, and the loud, drunk ones at night. Everyone's so elegant. I like French girls. And French food. They put butter on everything, and cream." He grinned at me. "Fancy putting cream on a French girl, now."

He moved on his knees towards me until he was over me, straddling my legs.

"I've made you something," he said, biting his lower lip as he carefully worked the daisy ring he'd made onto my left hand. The little flowers were cool on my skin, and so soft.

"There, now we're fairy-married."

"Richard, that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Thank you. I love you. Did you just make that up?"

He shrugged. "Oh, something from my childhood. I always liked fairy tales. Knights and battles and trolls and pretty French maids." He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. "My brothers and I would play them out when we were boys. Troll under the bridge, Arabian Nights. I would read to Nick when he was a baby, Andy and I would act for him. We grew out of them, 'course. Into comics and bikes, had a little gang ran the neighborhood."

He brought my hand to my face and brushed the daisy ring against my lips.

"It was hard," he went on, quietly now, "being older, being protective of them, but having no one to protect me. When I moved up in school out of primary, away from them, I started getting picked on, because now I was the small one, the young one. There were these two boys—I can't even remember their names now, funny that. A grade above me, they took to chasing me behind the kickball wall. They would push me around, you know? Into each other, until one could grab me and hold on, the other would pull my hair, pinch me, poke his fingers in my ears or against my eyes until I would see stars, trying to get me to scream or cry. Sometimes I did, at first. Then I noticed, the one that almost always grabbed onto me first was quite happy with what he was doing."

"What do you—oh."

"Yeah." Richard pushed my light jacket off my shoulders and was stroking over my collarbones with the tips of his fingers, tugging gently at my shirt as his touch slid along to my throat and back out again. I let him without moving, just looking up at him hovering over me, the sun on his face making his eyes a startling reddish brown, and a little watery.

"After that, I didn't cry. It was like I couldn't, and that made them mad, but the more mad they got the more turned on they were, and that was embarrassing I think, and they started to hurt me more, leaving bruises on my arms, jabbing me, throwing me down just to pick me up and toss me again. I just let them do it. I didn't really understand what it was then, but I wanted them to fuck me."

I gasped as he said it, because his thumbs had swept down over the top of my breasts and he pressed hard, the heels of his hands pushing the air from my chest.

"I don't know why they didn't. They even told me to meet them behind that wall after school, and I did. I actually went right there and waited for them. By the end of the year one of the boys had grown so tall he could pick me up by the wrist and hold me off the ground while the other pinched or hit me in the ribs and legs. Once I was bit, even, here."

He brought my hand to the soft bit of skin just above his hip. I licked my lips, cupping my palm over the place. "You never told anyone, never tried to make them stop?"

He shook his head. "I liked it. One of the boys, the tall one I think, moved away that summer and the other lost interest after that. I used to go and sit behind the wall, can you believe it? It was comforting. I would have let them fuck me if they had tried. I wasn't ashamed of it, not until I was a bit older at least. Things get confusing when you're a teenager, though, don't they? But I never forgot. I wanted to remember, actually. It's strange. Complicated. Tangled up feelings, isn't it?"

"Yes," I whispered, my hand still on his hip, his fingers dancing lightly over my arms and shoulders, up to my cheeks, pushing back my hair from my ears.

"I was always looking for them after that. For someone who would hurt me, and someone who would fuck me, too. Because I'm small, guys have always tried to manhandle me, but I'm stronger than I look, and I've never let myself be bullied like that again, not without giving as good as I got, at least. But no one's ever gotten off on it like those two did, either. Something about the lust, the desire, that _feeling_ when another person _wants_ you. At their mercy, you know? I know you do. I didn't honestly think I would find it, feel it, again."

"James—" I said, and felt Richard's skin pebble under my hand and a breath shuddered out of his throat. "Why him? How..."

"I don't know, or I didn't, at the time. He was just always there. Near me. Watched me. Not in a creeper way, though. He paid attention to what I was doing. Seemed to like me, as different as we are. He can be so taciturn, so cold, but I could always make him laugh, and the closer we got... I started to feel that again. I don't think it was intentional on his part, but it really felt like—"

He laughed suddenly, self consciously.

"Like he was feeding on me somehow. Just draining me. Getting me to talk until I was exhausted on some subject, challenging me to do a project at work just to see my fingers bleed. Pushing me. Like he wanted something from me. Seeing how far I would go just because he told me to." He shook himself and looked up, squinting into the bright sky. "Have you got anything to drink?"

I tickled him, shoving my hand under his shirt and squeezing his ribs and he crowed, falling to the side into the grass. The moment was broken, and I was grateful. My panties had a familiar heat and heaviness to them as I moved around to fish the thermos out of the backpack. Richard and I had agreed to behave while James was gone. I handed Richard the thermos. He sniffed the open top and made a face, but he took a tentative sip. And coughed.

"What. Is that?" He swiped at his tongue.

"Baby! It's chamomile tea!"

"Could use a gallon of honey. Is it flowers?" Suddenly he launched himself at me. A large splash of warm tea slopped out as we toppled over, soaking into my shirt and pooling up on my throat. He lapped at it.

"Oh, that's a little sweeter, then. My fairy wife, my princess of the flowers," he said, lips and tongue working to clean me. He locked himself around me, licking and nipping at my skin, his hips grinding against my thigh trapped between his legs and I could feel him stiffen against me. I pulled his leg up hard between mine and we rutted there in the grass like teenagers.

We were sunburned and panting by the time we were through. I had peeled his shirt off and had barely kept him from ripping mine open down the front. As it were the top two buttons were missing and two more were pulled loose, but it was open and my breasts were out and spilling over my bra, my nipples hard and sore from his teeth. My panties were soaked and I ached there from the pressure of his leg, and then his palm when he had made me come with the heel of his hand. I trailed my fingers through the come on his belly and he shivered when my tongue followed suit, cleaning him as he'd cleaned me of tea. My flower ring had come off in the chaos, but my hand still smelled of crushed daisy petals.


	9. Chapter 9

_I am the jealous kind  
whoever would have guessed_  
_Starling now I am shut out and confined_  
_even within my nest_  
_what does it take to make to through another day_

 

 

Jeremy had been correct about one thing, and that was the crew not caring who I was or why I was there. They were all quite friendly and courteous; mostly college aged guys with three day old beards and layers of tea-stained, wrinkled clothing they peeled off or added to with the filming hours spilling from the early a.m. to well into the evening and in most any kind of weather. Like a unit, they asked me if I wanted tea or sandwiches and as long as I didn't step on cords they left me alone. Obviously I was staying wherever James was, we were found alone multiple times by various production members and never was a question asked nor did a word escape into the media. They were like a silent guard around me, and sometimes I fancied myself the princess James often called me, with my own male escort.

  
Jeremy assuredly had something to do with everyone's pointed disinterest, and he took advantage of it, knocking on the door of my hotel room whenever James was away and I stayed behind.  
  
"Oh, Hammond and May ruined something. Naturally, I completed my task right the first time, so I thought I'd relieve your boredom, because it's going to take them forever to finish," was his first and most used reason for appearing unannounced. It was innocent and he was always fun to be around and I pretended not to notice the glee with which Jeremy would greet James, sprawled on the hotel bed, crumbs on the blankets from whatever weird packaged food he'd decided I needed to try. Playing cards or watching a history programme, there was nothing for James to really be upset over, other than Jeremy's presence, and how much I enjoyed it. And I realised quickly I was being used to draw James into talking. Sometimes I ended up being trapped in the room with them as they argued about cars so I learned to relish the large water heaters in hotels as showers drowned them out. But more often than not, Jeremy could draw him into conversation and while I never pointed it out, I'm sure Jeremy enjoyed listening to James as much as I ever did. I'd never seen a person more argumentative yet so willing to hear the other side as Jeremy with James.  
  
It took no time at all for me to become comfortable with Jezza, as James called him. Though I expected otherwise, he refrained from harassing Richard or teasing any of us with what he knew and that endeared him to me immensely. He simply seemed pleased he had gotten his way that I come with them. His motivations were hard to decipher, and I gave up guessing at them and enjoyed him.  
  
He was reading a magazine as we ate a late breakfast in an empty hotel lobby. He smacked the slick pages sharply with his fingers and made a disgusted noise.  
  
"There it is again! What the hell?"  
  
"What?"  
  
He seemed genuinely upset. He almost spoke, then looked around. There was no one, but he leaned in close to me anyway. "Shaving sex!" He thrust the magazine at me. It was a travel magazine and there was an article about honeymoon destinations and 'tips' for new couples and on the list was shaving each other. I laughed until my sides ached at his bewildered and irritated expression.  
  
"I'm serious! What the fuck is it? And why do I keep hearing about it? Do you know what it is?" His face was flushed and I laughed so hard I had to hold my head up in my hands, leaking tears. He tossed the magazine on the table and folded his arms. "It's not a real thing," he said indignantly. I wiped my streaming eyes and stood up.  
  
"Come up to my room in a few minutes," I said and walked away, leaving him glaring at the magazine. I debated for a moment about whether he was setting me up, but I decided it didn't matter. I was sure Jeremy had surprised us all with his compassion and unwavering friendship in spite of the drama and potential danger, and if one of us was going to step over the boundary first, I felt I owed it to him to not make it be him.  
  
I drew a bath when I got to my room, leaving the door ajar so he could just come in. There was bubble bath gel and I emptied the bottle under the faucet. I gathered my hair in a loose coil on my head and slid a new blade into James' old fashioned safety razor.  
  
I was buried to my neck in bubbles when I heard him kick the door closed. I called to him and burst out laughing as he wrapped his fingers around the bathroom door first, then his curls slowly appeared, and his broad forehead and finally his sky blue eyes peeked around, darting nervously until he spotted me.  
  
"Wash your back?" came a muffled query.  
  
"I want to show you something!"  
  
He shoved the door open and took up the room. "Splendid!" He leaned on the counter.  
  
"Think of it as an educational programme."

I wiggled in the bubbles until I was sitting width-wise in the tub, my wet, slippery legs dangling over the edge, dripping from the toes. I lifted one hand out of the water until Jeremy noticed I was holding the razor.  
  
"This is actually quite easy to understand," I began, extending my right leg in the air, the suds sliding down towards an apex hidden in foam.  
  
"Shaving a woman's legs," I said, starting at the ankle and using long, even strokes, "allows you to first touch her. You don't grip her like a piece of wood you're splitting kindling from, you support her body and cradle her leg. Second, you see her willingly part her legs for you." I slid down a little deeper, exposing more of my legs, gliding the razor over the curve of my knee and the inside of my thigh. "Is there anything softer than a woman's skin? You get to feel every inch of her legs, checking for any spots missed. No one says you can't use your cheek or lips or tongue to check." I used both hands, rubbing slowly up and down from ankle to thigh. Jeremy was chewing his pinky nail and I raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
"I'm taking mental notes," he assured me, eyes flicking between my legs and my face. I switched legs.  
  
"It's about trust of course," I said, putting razor to skin again. "You have to be confident, and what woman doesn't want that? She has to know you won't hurt her. Or maybe she wants you to," I let the blade slip sideways below my knee and gasped as it cut me. It was a tiny mark, but so precise blood flowed immediately, a little trickle that wound its way down my leg and disappeared into the snowy mound around me. Jeremy was staring at me now, expressionless, but I knew I had startled him.  
  
"Maybe," my voice sounded throaty, and I stared back at him, smiling a sly smile, "she wants to see how you'll treat her, how you'll take care of her. If you panic or apologise, or if you can control her feelings, keep her from being afraid." I moved my thigh, my chin touching bubbles and my ass pressed against the side of the tub. I watched Jeremy's eyes follow the suds to the surface, and then search for a moment for what he knew was just beneath the white mass. I swirled my hand in the water, pushing away the bubbles, and Jeremy's hand dropped away from his mouth as my mound was exposed, just under the surface of the water. I had short-trimmed curls there. I played with them as I spoke. "This can be a transformation. Or an expression of just how close you want to be to her."  
  
"Very close," he murmured.  
  
I set the soles of my feet on the edge of the tub and pushed my hips out of the water. I used a small amount of liquid castile soap and rubbed it into the dark curls. The undercarriage was already free from hair, Jeremy knew that, of course, and my heart beat faster as I remembered his hands on me, long fingers manipulating me until I squirted. I carefully scraped the soft hair over my mound away, the lather making it easy. I'd never been shaved completely bare and I found myself surprisingly turned on by the prospect. I refused to think about what I was going to tell James.  
  
"If it's the first time, imagine how sensitive the skin will be, how every touch will be amplified. This has never been kissed or licked or sucked." I sloshed bubbles and water over the smooth flesh by bouncing my ass. "And now you can have her open to you completely." I pushed my hips up, legs splayed open, the fingers of my left hand opening my labia and holding the skin taut as I expertly removed the day old stubble. When my hands moved away, his eyes stayed where they were. I sat the razor aside and swirled the water again, losing the hairs in the water and foam, but it was too tempting not to play with my soft flesh. I adjusted so my knees were hanging over the edge, my breasts floating and peeking through the bubbles. I used both hands to pull my labia open again, thumbs massaging my fleshy pink mound. "Returning the favour is actually a lot more exciting than a man might think."  
  
"Is that right." A small bead of sweat trickled down his temple.  
  
"You can start small if it's too much of a commitment. Clippers are great for shortening the hair, thinning it out if you move on to a razor, and of course, it's polite to many people anyway, being trimmed short."  
  
He cleared his throat. "Good to know."  
  
"Being shaven makes the cock look bigger, longer." I bounced in the tub slightly, letting the water lap at my exposed clit as I pinched at my swelling lips. "I know the amount of trust it takes on your behalf to let a woman at you with something sharp, but she will enjoy it just as much as you. You know it will feel good, being lathered up. You won't get hard all the way but it helps when there's hair on the shaft, to be a little swollen. And I love having soft, hairless balls to suck on. It feels so good having them in my mouth. Pulling the skin tight is the secret to shaving there." I bit my lip and blushed. "Imagine the sensations, her fingers plucking and pulling at you, how much she will concentrate on just you." I closed my eyes, cunt just visible below the water, my fingers working soft flesh as I spoke. "What would it feel like, Jeremy, when she was done and you are smooth, rinsed clean with warm water, and she takes all of you into her mouth, balls and cock, and runs her tongue all over, sucking, teeth gently scraping the sensitive skin?"  
  
"Amazing..." he breathed and shifted his hips, the outline of his cock pushing against his grey slacks.  
  
"After shaving, the skin can be irritated sometimes. Have you ever used baby oil, or coconut oil?"  
  
"I will now," he said with a little laugh.  
  
"You know you'll want to bury your face in her pussy after that, hmm? Rub your hard cock over her soft skin; you will both be so hot to the touch." My fingers found my clit and even in the water I could feel come slicking my fingers.  
  
"Like it's drowning," he said almost to himself.  
  
"In need of mouth to mouth," I played along, and the gleam in his eyes when he met mine, and smiled, made me come. The water built waves as I rocked with the intensity. My vision dimmed for a second and I giggled uncontrollably, inhaling bubbles as the water splashed back into my face and onto the floor.  
  
Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his shoes for a moment. "Well, that answered my questions," he said seriously.  
  
I was all at once acutely embarrassed and sure James was not going to be amused. I slithered onto my stomach and peered up at him, but he had no intention of leaving. He stepped to the tub in one motion and plunged his hand into the water between my legs. I yelped, but he pulled the plug by the chain and flipped the lever to drain the water around me.  
  
"Come on now, I want to see you without all this in the way," he ordered, flicking bubbles off his fingers.  
  
I reluctantly sat up and turned the tap back on. I stood slowly and the last of my protective cover of suds slid away with the water. The shower blew cold water for a moment and I gasped, but as it heated up I turned to face him, dropping my hands to my sides. I focused on my reflection in the mirror behind him, but it showed me exactly what he was seeing. My breasts were red from the heat of the water, nipples hard from the shock of the cold a moment ago. The water ran down between them and over my soft belly and below that where I was used to seeing a dark patch of hair, the water flowed over smooth, pale skin. My clit was peeking out between swollen lips, still hard from masturbating. The swell of my hips and the top of my thighs were just visible in the mirror and there was nowhere to look now but at my own face or Jeremy. I chose him. He was chewing his nail again.  
  
"I'm in need of one, meeself. A cold one, I think. Who's going to tell James?"  
  
Not "what", and I sighed for even contemplating hiding the truth. Jeremy had been too good for too long; he was dying to cause trouble, but it was my fault, I reminded myself. I didn't answer, turning in the spray and rinsing the last of the bubble residue away.  
  
"Well, I nominate me, because I'm on my way to meet him!" He pulled the shower curtain closed finally. "Objections?"  
  
"No, Jeremy," I sighed again. The shower curtain opened slightly and he reached in, cupping my head and gently drawing me towards him. He planted a kiss on my cheek.  
  
"If he punches me, it was worth it," he said and laughed and left.  
  
I dried and dressed and went for a walk, leaving the wet floor and towels for housekeeping. I tried to pass the time without thinking too much, but because I wasn't sure if I wanted it to go by fast or slow, I felt confused and anxious and unable to concentrate. I went back to the hotel and waited. By the time the door opened, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, chewing my pinky nail in a mimicry of Jeremy, butterflies in my stomach. But my thighs were slick from knowing James would not let me go without punishment. I had decided he would definitely punish me, and this was the first time I really deserved it. The times before had been more of a preemptive strike, a lesson to me about what he expected, not because I'd ever gone against his wishes. What I had done now was not even defiance, it was purely inappropriate and akin to cheating. I had abused his trust in me, I knew. But though my heart was pounding as the lock clicked and the door opened and James stepped inside, I was still secretly glad I'd done it, for Jeremy's sake. James would forgive me, and by the look on his face, he had a plan to make sure I did not repeat such a transgression.  
  
I cowered as he came in the room, but he ignored me and walked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Just before the front door snicked shut, Richard stepped inside, closing it quietly. He raised his eyebrows at me and I felt like sticking my tongue out at him like he was my little brother and teasing me for being in trouble when he was not. He moved close to me and whispered hurriedly.  
  
"Let me see!"  
  
"No!" I hissed, face flushed in embarrassment.  
  
"Come on," he pleaded. We both heard water in the tub start.  
  
"Is he angry?" I asked.  
  
"Dunno. He beat Jeremy at a drag race for once, though." His fingertips touched my thighs. "Please?"  
  
I just looked at him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and smirked at me. I almost laughed, but James killed it, reemerging from the bathroom partially. He crooked his finger at me, and I didn't want to go. He moved aside to let me in but I didn't get far; he caught a handful of my hair, holding it lightly but high, as if he didn't want to to touch my skin.  
  
"Should we take it all off, then?"  
  
"What? No!" I hadn't even considered that in retaliation. "James, I'm sorry. It was silly and Jeremy—"  
  
He yanked up on my hair. "Shut up. You know, I'm honestly hurt. That ass got to see something I haven't. You spent time and energy on someone else like you spend on only me—I thought until now. He saw me become jealous and unable to do anything about it, because he did nothing, really. But you helped him humiliate me."  
  
I was barely breathing when he stopped speaking.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I wanted," I whispered. He dropped my hair and stepped away from me.  
  
"What you want is irrelevant," he said, his voice flat. "You agreed."  
  
I bowed my head and nodded.  
  
"Even Jeremy respected me enough to not interfere again, until you invited him."  
  
"James—"  
  
He slapped me across the face, hard enough to turn my head. A sob escaped me and I braced myself as I looked up at him slowly. The next blow was harder, bringing tears to my eyes, but I knew any pleas would anger him more. Richard appeared in the doorway and James followed my gaze, turning to him.  
  
"Belt, please." He put his hand out and Richard filled it with snaking black leather. James took his own from his hips and pushed his sleeves up.

"Strip," he commanded.

I pulled my sweater off and popped the buttons of my dress and shrugged out of it. I knew the futility of anything else and Richard got what he wanted, seeing what I'd done. James seemed to ignore it though. He stepped behind me, drawing my right arm behind me first and then my left. Richard's belt was twisted tight around and between my wrists and James buckled it shut. I didn't even try to hide my fear, shaking hard enough my teeth were clicking together. His belt tied my ankles to each other and only then did he acknowledged the change, and I screamed when he did. He wrapped an arm around me from behind and reached down, squeezing my bald mound in a crushing grip. James held me up, digging his fingers in hard as my legs buckled. He tightened his arm around me and thrust his fingers between my legs, into my wetness and he squeezed there, too, and slapped his wet hand against my pussy until I squealed again. He switched his grip to my neck, pulling my head against his, and he growled into my ear. "Jezza told me—'Like it was drowning'."  
  
I looked at Richard, trying to gauge the scene, and was not relieved to see him looking not at us but at the full bathtub. James crushed my pussy in his palm again, twisting the flesh and I moaned, in tears, and didn't struggle when he scooped me up in his arms. When I hit the water I did, however, as it was cold. I gasped and tried to stand up, but it was easy for James to keep me off balance, catching my elbow and jerking me onto my belly. I managed a small breath before my head went under. I was shaking from the cold water, but I tried to be still and not panic. The seconds were slow and became slower when I realised he wasn't playing, that he had every intention of bringing me to the point of drowning. I let out my air, knowing it was inevitable. At the bubbles, James gripped my hair, but he pushed instead of pulled. I thought of my many dreams of breathing under water and my muscles spasmed, wanting that relief, and I fought him as my mouth filled up with water. I kicked hard, and felt my hair pulled and my neck arched back and for a second I could breathe. I was pushed back under with another mouthful of water, half inhaled. I coughed and felt water burn my airway and all at once I wasn't in control of my body. My legs jerked out of James' grip and pushed against the tub, trying to shove myself above the water. He drug me up and water sprayed from my throat as I coughed. James pulled hard on my arm again, spinning me on my back as I wheezed, and I tried to worm away when I saw the expression on his face; as cold as the water I was drowning in. I tried to scream for Richard, who was still standing in the doorway, but a small sound was all I managed before James clapped his palm over my mouth and pushed me back under the water. I kicked my legs but it arched my hips and belly out of the water and I panicked then as the pressure of his hand forced water into my nose. I could no longer feel the cold water around me; instead there was an intense heat everywhere inside my body and my pulse pounded in my chest and head. I could see a blurry form leaning over me and I opened my mouth wide to try to bite the hand holding me down, but it slid away to grasp my hair and pin me to the bottom of the tub. I blacked out, a tiny moment of terror preceding the sensation of slipping away into oblivion. Then, I could hear Richard yelling nearby and felt water pouring from my nose, but I could breathe. James had me by the arm again, holding me upright as I heaved and coughed.  
  
"She's fine, Hammond, be quiet."  
  
"She's blue at the lips!" Richard cried.  
  
The ache in my ribs was the sensation I was aware of at first, and it wasn't until James yarded me upright and took me in his arms again that I felt myself shaking. James deposited me on the bed and I curled into a ball, coughing wetly. I heard James going through his bags, and Richard moved near to me. James' hands felt like fire on my cold skin as he gripped my legs and dragged me to the foot of the bed. He removed the belt from my ankles, and I felt something soft, a tie perhaps, slip around my right ankle and he pulled it to the side and secured it somehow to the bottom of the frame, and did the same with my left, dragging my ass to the edge and spreading my legs painfully wide. I tried to sit up, my throat raw from breathing water, but James slapped me again and I fell back, sobbing, overwhelmed and afraid.  
  
"Hold her," James said, and Richard knelt at my head and put his hands on my shoulders. "No," James corrected. "Hands over her mouth. Muffle her with a pillow if you have to."  
  
I met Richard's eyes and he was begging me not to make him smother me. He placed his right hand low over my mouth, half cupping my chin to keep my teeth together, then covered it with his left. I breathed in one deep breath before there was movement by my knees and James lashed down with his wet belt on my newly shaved, spread-open pussy. The pain was phenomenal and I did scream. I fought Richard's hold as hard as I could as James spanked the belt down over and over again. I screamed and tried to beg, but Richard's grip never loosened, though he had to hunch over me and push down hard, knees on either side of my head. Tears coursed down my cheeks and, horribly, into my ears, covering Richard's hands and running back into my throat. I retched, stomach muscles spasming. I couldn't scream after that or I would choke, so I lay as still as I could as James hurt me for what I had done, and I knew I would never act out on my own again. I had my reasons, but James was right; I had put Jeremy first and had thought to fix something that was working well between them. I was sorry, and I knew if I trusted only James, his commands and needs, I would not embarrass him or hurt him or ever give another power over him. He had trusted me implicitly with Jeremy and I felt ashamed at how I'd used that trust to betray him.  
  
Richard lips were pressed together and I watched his eyes slide away from where James was hurting me and off to one side. I wanted James to stop so I could show him how sorry I was. I moaned, and arched my hips to meet his next strike and it caught me squarely over my clit and I was sure I would never feel anything but pain there again. But he stopped. He dropped the belt and backed away. Richard released my face and a moment later he had a cloth to my cheek, wiping away tears and mucus before he slid off the bed. I thought he was going to untie me, that James still didn't want to touch me, but he simply sank to his knees beside the bed and lowered his gaze to the floor.  
  
When James entered me, I was appalled at the numbness first, the way my mound and pussy lips felt thick and dead. He pressed his hips into me, his pubic bone grinding against mine hard enough the bindings on my ankles grew tight. James let his weight rest fully on me and I was gasping for air and writhing on my crushed wrists after a moment. He caught my head in his hands and pushed it to one side, exposing my neck, and he began speaking quietly into my ear.  
  
"Ask me to forgive you"  
  
“Please!" I gasped.  
  
"Tell me you're sorry."  
  
"So sorry—Ah!" I cried as he rocked his hips.  
  
"Who will you think to please from now on?"  
  
"You, James."  
  
"Good. Who will you give your body to?"  
  
"Only you!" I tried not to scream again as he ran his open mouth down my throat and I remembered how hard he could bite.  
  
"And this?" he prompted, withdrawing his cock from me and squeezing my pussy mound in his palm again.  
  
"It's yours!"  
  
"Say it."  
  
"My pussy belongs to you, James."  
  
"Thank you." He let go without hurting me again and his cock returned. He lifted me up by the back of the neck until I was supporting myself on my bound hands and he bent my head down to force me to see what he'd done. My mound was dark cherry red and laced with ugly purple and blue welts which had split the skin, and my groin and his was smeared with blood.  
  
"Oh god," I whimpered, but James held me so I had to watch as he fucked me. It was obscene how much it hurt, but I gave myself over to him, opening my legs and bracing myself as he pounded into me, intent on an orgasm to mark what was his. I was amazed and ashamed when I felt pleasure from what he was doing to me. It showed on my face and James finally softened his expression, a triumphant gleam coming to his eyes.  
  
"Slut," he purred. "But you're mine, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Say it."  
  
I met his eyes and knew he wasn't angry with me anymore. "I belong to you, my body is yours, my mind and heart are only for you, James. I'm yours."  
  
He bared his teeth and I felt his orgasm inside me as a wave of pleasure. I wanted to kiss him, to have him hold me and sooth my hurt and assure me I was forgiven, but even before he had finished his orgasm he pulled away from me, letting the last of his come splash down and sting the cuts on my cunt. I lifted my head again to see him, but he was readjusting his pants.  
  
"Hammond," he said without looking up. "Get her off my bed. I don't want either of you here when I come back."  
  
I couldn't help it; I cried out in protest, but I was ignored as James scooped up his room key and his jacket and left. Richard had me untied in moments, though I was barely aware of it. He tenderly lifted me so I could sit up while he retrieved my dress from the bathroom. I moved when he told me, but after my dress was buttoned and he asked me to stand, I could not, the pain between my legs and the shock setting in making me dizzy and unable to keep my balance. Richard left me alone for a moment and I nearly fell asleep sitting up in a matter of seconds, then I felt him pick me up and maneuver us through the doors into his room across the hall. I wept against Richard's neck, clinging to him even as he settled me on his bed. He tried to free himself, then he climbed into the bed with me, fully clothed. I couldn't answer his gentle queries as I cried, the horrible ball of fear and shame pressing on my chest keeping the words from forming. James would forgive me, but would he ever trust me again?  
  
I fell asleep cradled in Richard's arms finally, and awoke to a sound I had never heard before; Richard and James were arguing. It was early morning by the light filtering in the curtains over the widow I was facing. The men were behind me and I stayed as still as I could, feeling instantly as sick and afraid as I had the night before. The voice coming from the other room was James', and I couldn't believe the words he was using.  
  
"Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what it takes to do this. All you can do is feel, like a fucking black hole, you just take and take from me without ever once considering what I am feeling! You've let me make all the rules, make all the decisions, and you expect me to protect you as well. You haven't taken responsibility for any of this! Always worried about your life, but do you realise I have sacrificed my life for you? And now you think to tell me how to treat her? I think you're so damn wound up in your own head, you can't have the faintest idea who she is or what is good for her."  
  
"Nearly killing her is good for her?" Richard scoffed at him.  
  
"I did not—Look, what do you expect of me at this point? You helped me become this, and now you doubt me? Now you don't think I know what I'm doing? You are so fucking protected, and what you're not protected from you're too afraid to look at! You don't have to do anything but offer your ass to me and soak up everything I can think of, every emotion and all the effort I put out, and I still have to have a mind to treat you most of the time as if I don't fuck you! I never fucking give it away. I still consider you my friend, first. You're lucky she's here, Richard. I don't know how much longer I could have gone on alone. Alone. Do you understand that? She saved both of us. And I will not let her down, I will not let her get away, I will not let her think I do not care what she does or who she does it with. I understand I share her with you but that's how this started and I can't change that. All I can do is be what I've become, what you both have made me into, and if you don't like it you can damn well find someone else to beat you and fuck you and keep it all a secret because you are too scared to own up to what you are."  
  
"And what am I?" Richard's voice was low and angry.  
  
"A queer, submissive little boy who cheats on his wife and is now trying to top from the bottom when you should be keeping your cocksucking mouth shut except to say 'Thank you, James, for not revealing to the world how empty my life would be without a cock in my ass and a gag in my mouth.'"  
  
"Fuck you," came the hissing reply. James' laugh was cynical.  
  
"You don't understand, do you? It still hasn't made a dent in your thick skull how fucking lucky you are, how well I treat you, how much I fucking respect you, for all your lying and shame and fear. No, shut up, shut your idiot mouth. Do you want to keep on with this? Yeah? Then when we get done with this shoot and go back home, stay the fuck away from me until I ask for your presence. Is that clear? Good. Give her money for a train and tell her I'll meet her at home tomorrow." The door slammed a few moments later and a dreadful silence took the place of wrath. I finally tried shifting my position and it was my groan of pain from the bruising between my legs that gave me away as awake. Richard walked in, dragging his feet.  
  
"James wants you to leave," he said, sitting carefully on the bed.  
  
"I know, I heard you..." I rolled onto my back, experimenting. Richard echoed my grimace, knowing what I was feeling. I rubbed my eyes and the realisation I already—still—had a headache made it much easier to cry again. "I didn't mean to cause this, I really didn't. I'm sorry, Richard."  
  
He carefully wrapped himself around me again. "I know," he said and kissed my shoulder. "You just scared him a bit."


	10. Chapter 10

_Celebrate your top ten in the charts of pain_  
_Lover brother bougainvillaea_  
_My vine twists around your need_  
_Even the rain is sharp_  
_Like today as you shock me sane_

 

 

I tried to remember Richard's reassurance, but the two weeks that followed my lonely return home from the hotel had me positive James was never going to forgive me. Our relationship reverted back to my initial days with him. He ignored me completely the first day of his return except to shove me away from him the first time I came near. After that, he approached me only to secure my hands into useless positions; sometimes dangling at the ends of bars attached to my collar, or behind my back in an agonising prayer position, to my waist belt, or bent around me, one arm in back, one in front, fingers touching elbows. In this way he kept me from my chores, from cooking or taking care of myself. He bathed me, showers too cold or too hot, and fed me—or rather, put plates of food on the floor. The portions grew smaller and smaller with each meal and after a week, I was offered a mere handful a day. I felt weak after a while, which James didn't seem to mind, either. He let me sleep, or rest on my rug. I woke to him snapping his fingers at me, never once using my name, or even a pet name for me, since I'd shaved for Jeremy. I struggled to my knees, arms pinned behind my back at the elbows and wrists, and hobbled awkwardly after him when he headed for the bathroom. There was a small bucket on the counter, and a towel laid on the floor, and the smell of coffee made me salivate.  
  
It was to be the first of daily enemas. I was required to hold some longer than others, and was always beaten if I spilled any. Afterwards, an oiled glass plug was inserted, which I was to wear the rest of the day. He returned to pissing up my ass on occasion; in the mornings if I'd been allowed to sleep on his floor, or throughout the day at any given moment. Richard witnessed it for the first time when, a week into the silent treatment, James called for him. I knew I didn't look well by the expression on Richard's face when he was pushed down onto the couch next to me. I was too exhausted to reassure him, and simply curled up with my head close to his leg. Close, but not touching. He smelled so good. Of fresh air, grass, dogs and horses. And of his home, the sweet, sticky-fingered smell of children, and of some exotic flower, an iris dusted with clove.

James stripped him silently, forcefully, and dragged us both to the bathroom, where I was administered an enema first, but it was James' urine which filled me. Richard was obviously embarrassed at my predicament, but I was used to it by now, and able to hold it the allotted length of time, but he struggled fiercely to keep James from doing the same to him, even though it was merely glycerine laced warm water. James eventually had to tie Richard to me, over my back, his arms and thighs strapped tightly to mine, ankles the same. I bowed down, pulling him with me, knowing the best position for the enema. Five minutes he was cautioned to hold it, but it was obviously going to take longer, and James prolonged it by taking his time untying us so Richard could empty his bowels. He put his face in his hands once seated over the toilet, and was red faced and angry by the time James had us both cleaned in the cold shower. We were tied together, this time face to face, and James fucked Richard, leisurely. Richard was hard, panting, pushing against James eagerly, wriggling hopefully, trying to find entrance to my cunt, but James always kept us apart. When he'd had enough, he spent the next hour tormenting Richard with the little electricity wand before flipping us over and using the split strap on my ass and back. I was hoarse from screaming when he finally seemed satisfied, even though I'd tried hard not to shriek in Richard's ear. We were both gagged after that, lying on our sides, the 'kissing' ball gags clipped together so we had nowhere to look but at each other. I felt the glass plug slide into place inside me, then Richard tensed and his brown eyes went wide. I heard a peculiar noise, a puffing sound, and later learned James had introduced a new plug into his arsenal. It was an inflatable dog-cock. Small enough at first to slide into Richard's ass without much fuss, it was soon inflated to the point there was no removing it, especially with the huge knot at the base, pressing like a fist against the inner ring of muscle. James removed the hose and left us there, Richard breathing heavily through his nose, trying to acclimatise himself to the huge intruder in his body. It wasn't long, although I tried to stop him, before he was dealing with it the only way he could. First he nuzzled me, pushing my ball gag with his own in a desperate mimicry of a kiss, pulling my head about with his movements. He rocked himself back and forth until he built up momentum enough to jerk me over almost onto him, as close as we could get, and he began a slow, rhythmic thrusting with his hips, pushing his hard cock into my thighs, rubbing himself desperately against me. He was sweating, his beautiful eyes half closed in concentration and pleasure, our twinned limbs and strange position not allowing him the contact he needed, and it took him a long time before he moaned, stiffened, and I felt his hot come hit my belly. I moaned with him, inflamed after so long under James' chastity.  
  
Almost as if he'd heard my thoughts, a movement by the door startled us both, and I could see him standing in the doorway, leaning, watching us through narrowed eyes. I blinked at him, begging as best I could for his help, his permission, his command, to let me orgasm as Richard had. Instead, he pushed off the door frame and slowly advanced on us. Richard was barely recovered, his cock still hard and trapped between us, and he whimpered as James moved behind him. I heard the puffing again and Richard whined, loudly, but it didn't stop James. He pumped the cock up until Richard was keening and shaking his head 'no', dragging me into the same movements. His threw his head back, and I knew then he must be filled to the point of bursting to thoughtlessly jerk on me. He wasn't hurting me, our bindings were too tight, but I knew he was suffering, and I wanted James to hurt him more. I divined James had no intention of letting me get off, that my heightened arousal was planned and required for some reason, and the sooner I gave James what he wanted, the sooner this might come to an end. I let Richard jerk me about as he struggled, knowing he would feel remorse for it when he was in control of his senses. It worked.  
  
"Selfish prick you are, Richard," James mocked. "Get fucked, have a little pain, get fucked again, make yourself come all over her, and that's all she gets, eh?" James reached across and slapped my ass sharply. I squeaked in surprise. "Let's do this, then. You're to come here everyday, and for each time you can't control yourself, she has another day of no orgasm." Richard grunted and frowned. He tried to turn his face away, but we were linked nearly at the lips and there was nowhere to hide. James said, "Now get up and go home." The buckles and ties fell away and there was a little hiss of air and while I was left immobile, Richard was allowed to move. James jerked him back when he reached out to touch me, a goodbye caress, and sent him stumbling out of the room. I couldn't believe the size of the now partially inflated dog-cock lying on the bed.  
  
James would use it on Richard each night for the following week. By the last day, he had it secured to a chair and pumped up so large that even without being tied to the chair, Richard could not get off of it. James used every incentive to make him try—fire, hot wax, electricity. He beat me viciously, cruelly, at Richard's feet, until I was nearly senseless and begging him pitifully to stop, my back and breasts and arms a mess of bruises, cane welts and belt marks. I was too weak from sleepless nights and too little food, from constant harassment and unbearable positions to need to be tied, either. I simply lay on floor and whimpered, my fingers reaching for James' shoe, unable to comprehend why he was still being so vicious and callous to us. All of the tenderness had disappeared, and I wondered if I would ever see it again, or if I could live without it. Richard tried to make up for it, but currently there was little he could do, stuck to a chair with his hands free but unable to reach me because of the monster buried in his ass. I knew he was confused by James' harshness, too, and was trying as best he could to deflect it towards himself. I could see on his face he was concerned with my worn state when he came to us in the evenings, but nothing he could do would keep James from marking me. Even in this strange, vicious state, James was careful not to damage Richard in a way that would be visible to his wife. When I'd stopped begging, and he couldn't get any more screams out of me, and Richard was cursing him, but still aroused, his cock hard and jutting out from his body, James drug me unresisting to my feet and lifted me onto Richard's lap. He wrapped his arms around me even as he arched and moaned as my weight pressed him down onto the plug. James flicked the split strap in front of my eyes and I managed a sob at the sight. When he thrashed my lower back and ass with it, I whimpered into Richard's shoulder, and blood dripped down my cheeks onto his knees before he came inside me.  
  
"Please stop," he managed, voice shaking, before his orgasm had even subsided, moving his hands down my back, hoping James was sensible enough not to hit them with the strap as he tried to protect me. James reached under us and pumped the toy up and I knew the sensation had gone from intense to unbearable for Richard by his ragged breathing. James held him there for several seconds before releasing some of the pressure. He pulled me away, letting me fall to my knees a few feet from Richard, and picked up his belt. I felt it wrap around my neck, and heard Richard's frightened cry before my vision went red and a loud buzzing erupted in my ears.  
  
That Richard was crushing me was the next thing I was aware of. He was on my back, his sweat stinging my broken skin, his chest slamming hard into my shoulders, scooting me along the floor, my breasts dragging against the wood. I pushed back with my hands, but couldn't keep the force with which James was fucking him from moving us.  
  
"Oh, your sloppy ass feels so good! It was such a tight fit at first, do you remember? How slow I had to go, how you'd pant and moan and beg me to wait?" James was hissing the words above us, pounding into Richard. "I can't believe you managed to pull off that dog-cock just to save the little cunt!" He emphasised his derision by lifting my head by my hair for a moment and letting me drop. I was dizzy and my throat hurt. "You could fit another cock in here, now. All of my fingers are in there! Shall I put my fist in next?"  
  
"No!" But I felt Richard push back and open his legs, back arching, his chest crushing the breath from me. He wanted it.  
  
"I won't. But I can't guarantee it won't happen. You see," he arched over us now, close to our heads, and I was coming near to blacking out again, their combined weight keeping me from breathing in, "I'm giving you two away. Tomorrow, you will come here—and if you don't, she goes anyway, and will not come back! You will come, and you both will be special guests at a party. I may just sell her, if they make an offer to keep her. If she does well, which you will, won't you, little cunt?" He was grinding his hips in a circle now, widening Richard's already loose hole, and we were both frozen, shocked at his words. "If I do, I won't want you anymore, but I'm sure you'll be able to beg a membership to their parties when you need to be fucked and hurt. I might not even want you, anyway, after what they're going to do to you."  
  
"James!" Richard was terrified. James slapped him, sharply. He wrapped his hand over his mouth, leaning down and putting his forearm across Richard's head, smashing my neck and face against the floor, and held him that way until I heard him grunt in satisfaction. Richard was hauled off of me and I collapsed, gulping air, strangely cold and shaking.  
  
I spent the night on the floor of my room, my arms wrapped in the red sheath Richard had worn the day Jeremy walked in on us. James did that on purpose, reminding me of the chain of events that had led to this horrible moment. I cried for a while, loudly, cold, scared and confused, and begged James to relent, to not send us away, and then just to let me see him, but he left me in the dark little room for an eternity. I woke up to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, talking fast. The voice grew louder, and I was terrified to hear my door unlocked. I squinted up into the bright light, blinking rapidly. James was standing next to a slim, shiny headed man in a sports coat. I couldn't see their faces, but the other man went right on talking.  
  
"Ah, she's a pretty gash. A little thin. Haven't you been feeding her, Jay? She'll need her strength. Are you sure you don't want to come? I'll see—"  
  
"She's better behaved like this. And, no."  
  
"I have to pee!" I couldn't help it any longer.  
  
"Well, go on then," James snapped. "You have to have a bath, anyway."  
  
I took my relief, having held it all night. The other man laughed delightedly. "Priceless. Lovely to see she's trained so well. Good on you, Jay. Let's have a drink!"  
  
“It's not even noon, Oz."  
  
"Champy and juice, then! I brought my own, of course. I'll make them while you toss her in some water." He wrinkled his nose. "Rather in need of it." I wiggled onto my knees in the puddle of warm urine and the other man laughed again when James grabbed my face in one hand and pulled me until I was standing, and I decided I would hate this haughty, owlish man. James took a dress off the bed and made me wipe my feet and dry my legs before shoving me out of the room and into the bathroom. I tried, failed, and gave up getting any communication, let alone affection or reassurance from James. He wouldn't even look at me, concentrating on the enema and then washing me thoroughly, drying me, and then commanding me stiffly how to prepare myself.  
  
When Richard arrived, he stopped dead in the middle of room when he spotted me on the couch. My hair was pulled up high on the top of my head and braided tightly. The braid had been threaded through a small hole at the top of a leather hood that was as tight a fit as possible around my head, covering my ears and buckled to the black posture collar. A muzzle wrapped around my lower face, buckled to the hood as well at the back. It covered my nose, allowing me to breath through two small riveted holes. A third piece would take away my sight, but for now was loosely dangling around my neck. Oz had tossed a clattering little bag in my direction and inside I found makeup, all in various shades of black, purple and red. When I looked at him, baffled, he cursed floridly and I found myself on my knees in front of him while his hands, with their dry, papery skin, twisted and turned my face, jabbing around my eyes with the colours. The effect was gothic, and meant, I guessed, to streak.  
  
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Richard said, dragging his eyes away from mine to glare at Oz.  
  
"Bugger off, pup," Oz sneered and sipped his drink.  
  
"Don't speak that way to my guest, Hammond," James said mildly. "And your chaperone. Did you get the pick up?"  
  
"Yeah, here." He slammed the brown paper wrapped package on the table. James cocked an eyebrow at him. Richard put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Chaperone, James? This is not really happening. You can't do this."  
  
"Oh, it's far too late, and too expensive, to back out now. Mouthy prick, isn't he?" Oz poured more champagne into James' glass.  
  
"Indeed." James took a long swallow, set his glass down carefully, and with a swiftness that always surprised me, had Richard, yowling, by the hair and on his knees. "You are going to behave yourself! You have her to think about, remember? You will do what you are told, when you are told. You will not embarrass myself or Oz, or things will be very, very bad. Do you understand?" Richard scowled up at him for a long moment, before nodding as best he could. James let go of his hair and put a foot on his chest, keeping him kneeling there between the two men. Oz clapped his hands.  
  
"Well! I am enjoying my morning ever so. Thanks for thinking of me, Jay. But of course you would. I am a man who knows people!" He looked slightly flushed from the mimosas, and aroused. His small, narrow blue eyes flicked from Richard to James constantly, but he seemed content just to look and enjoy the scene. "What is in the bag, sir?" James inclined his head and Oz fell on the package eagerly, snapping twine and ripping paper until he had two handfuls of shiny stainless steel. "Oooh, his and hers, I see!"  
  
"Richard, get the black silicon plug from the closet, the one with the round base,” James said.  
  
I was fitted first, made to hold my dress up over my hips and spread my legs as James pushed the short but rather wide plug into my ass. I grunted as it was lodged firmly inside me by the flaring ball and narrow stem, and then blushed under my mask as James allowed Oz to piece the chastity belt together and lock it onto me. The steel plate pressed against my pussy firmly, but it was the opening at the back that was the most uncomfortable, keeping my cheeks spread slightly as the crotch plate split around my anus. The edges were lined in soft plastic and the opening was narrow enough to keep the plug in place. I gasped again when Oz put his palm to the cool metal and pushed up forcefully.  
  
"Close your legs now, that's it, hold it there." The belt was cold and rigid and I felt nearly cut in two when it was finally snug around my waist and locked to the lower plate with two small steel padlocks. The lower of the two clinked occasionally against the plate right over the top of my clit and between the plug invading me and that inconsistent sensation, I was soon frustratingly aroused despite myself. I was yanked and stuffed into a beautiful black corset, having to hold onto the counter to keep from being jerked off my feet as Oz deftly laced it shut. Black pantyhose were tugged up slowly over my legs and the belt and I stepped, todderingly, into black satin high heels and slid into a black satin dress, gloved sleeves making it impossible to button myself and here Oz played maid as well. I was so fuzzy from lack of real sleep and food, worn out and sore from two weeks of constant beatings, I couldn't resist, could barely even register that fact this strange man was handling me, roughly tugging and pulling me around where it suited him. James was eating danishes and drinking tall mimosas, watching stonily, and made an effort to be paying attention to something else whenever I was spun in his direction. The dress was form-fitting and the corset that cupped my breasts and pushed them high and tightened down on my rib cage until I was breathing shallowly, seemed a prison. James handed him two pairs of leather cuffs and my wrists and ankles were bound together by short lengths of chain, allowing me to take tiny steps, and when a longer chain was linked from my ankles to my wrists, lifting the hem of the skirt a tiny bit, my hands were not to be raised above my waist. It was only then James met my gaze. I believed him at that moment I might not be coming back. I tried to take a step towards him, mute, hobbled, terrified, but he turned away from me. Richard took several quick steps backwards but James cornered him.  
  
"Ohh," Oz pleaded, "can't I do him, too?"  
  
James didn't answer immediately. I could see Richard, and he was angry, his face white. Through clenched teeth, he tried once more to save us, "Don't do this, please. What if something happens—"  
  
"Nonsense!" Oz interjected. "You'll be perfectly safe. Money buys anonymity like you wouldn't believe, dear boy, if that's what you're worried about. Everyone's clean, tested regularly. Don't think this is all for your benefit alone. Rather, a regular occurrence you've damn lucky to be invited to attend. Well... I guess you'll be the judge of luck, but you know what I'm saying! At worst, James could make a load of money off your sister here. She's docile enough, would fit in well with the other girls. Why, you and James could even go visit her!"  
  
James took a deep breath. "Oz, enough."  
  
"It's true. Ten thousand pounds for her. And maybe Sarah would even—"  
  
"Oz, shut the fuck up, will you?"  
  
"Oh, very well. So, can I dress him, too?" he persisted, then eyed me. "Look a touch green, pet. Jay, she should sit."  
  
Richard darted around James when he turned to look, and came to my side. I felt sick and dizzy and shook my head when Richard tried to move me. He brought a chair for me instead and helped me slowly perch on the edge—I was afraid what sitting full on my bottom would feel like. I was trying not to hyperventilate, the pressure around my ribs aching and leaving me unable to take a full breath. I thought one thing, repetitively; He won't leave me. He won't leave me. Everything else was banished, forbidden, unendurable.  
  
I wasn't fully aware of Richard being dragged from my side, of Oz gleefully fussing over him, of his growls and struggles, and I moved automatically when next commanded. James had cleared enough space for large SUV with heavily tinted windows in the back to be parked and the garage door closed, and the last thing I saw was Oz climbing into the driver's side before I felt James pull the eye cover of my mask up and buckle it into place. Richard seemed to resist as he was similarly blinded, and I fought panic when I was guided into the vehicle and belted into place. That Richard was present next to me was the only thing holding me together.  
  
The ride was long and arduous. Oz chatted incessantly, content with his own voice for company, and I was thankful the hood blotted out much of his voice. Richard and I were knocked around and against each other several times before we got the hang of riding blind and leaned slightly against each other's shoulders most of the trip. The chastity belt was uncomfortable at first, then agonising, but near the end of the ride I had shifted around and finally relaxed enough to keep it from digging in or pinching, though the constant pressure of it pushing the plug into my ass was not something I could ignore, and I knew there would be a wet spot on the back of my dress when I stood. At least two hours, maybe more, passed as we traveled, and I was aching, frightened and exhausted when the vehicle came to a stop. I flinched when the door was opened and strong hands lifted me out, holding my upper arms as I steadied myself. Whomever surrounded us now was silent, allowing me to listen for Richard's breathing and his shuffling, restricted steps. I needed his nearness, I had to know he was next to me to keeping from screaming.  
  
We were herded along, our restricted steps eliciting no impatience from our captors. I hoped Richard knew I was near him, and that he wasn't angry with me for what was happening to us. I heard him thrash around at one point, muffled grunting, and the sound of his shoes on the ground tapped strangely, as if he had been lifted, and I heard him dropped and stumble back into pace with me. I could hear other sounds; voices, cars with loud engines, doors opening and closing, dim laughter and the occasional clatter of what I guessed was glasses and dishes. And chains. Long, distinct rattles were becoming louder and more frequent, as if lengths of it was being threaded through pulleys or hoists. I was made to stop by a hand on my arm, and then left, disoriented, standing uncertainly, surrounded by the sounds of a dungeon. Filled with dread, I concentrated on not crying, afraid of drowning inside my mask. My litany had not changed. James would not leave me here! Would he? Had I meant so little to him? Had my indiscretion been unforgivable after all? Had I broken his trust so completely? If I—when I—saw him again, I would beg forgiveness, beg punishment for as long as he felt necessary, I would do anything to show him I was devoted to him, that I was sorry, that I wanted nothing but what he wanted me to have, that I trusted him implicitly, devotedly. I was ashamed he might not have been aware of that before now, at my selfishness and laziness, at my inconsiderate, inconsistent dedication.  
  
Unseen hands pushed Richard and I back to back and it was an eternity before our existence was acknowledged again.

"These two," said a familiar voice, "are a special pair. Keep them near each other, and think of them as complementary opposites."

I whined as I felt hands at my head, and blinked to clear my vision as the blindfold portion of my mask was removed. Oz was beaming at me, dressed in a tuxedo now. His companions were terrifying. Two extremely tall women with jet black hair, cropped short in coarse pixie cuts, stood near to me. They were naked except for their chastity belts, not unlike mine, and shiny black riding boots. One had a pretty face, a button nose and large blue eyes and she almost had a smile on her face. The bells hanging from the rings of her pierced nipples tinkled when she accepted my blindfold from Oz. The other woman was sharper of face and body, angular and strict, the ring through her nose that touched the top of her upper lip giving her an angry, dangerous appearance, and her small, almond shaped brown eyes regarded me without discernible emotion.  
  
"Now, little dove, these fine ladies here are your guardians," Oz said, relishing giving instructions. "They will see to your needs, though I doubt you'll have many, hm? Don't give them any trouble because they're your protectors, as well. Of course, I'll be too busy and in demand to watch over you myself, so these two will keep you safe in my place!" He turned to the women. "If she fusses, punish her as you see fit, or as much as gains her compliance, but she's not to be taken out of chastity or allowed to speak. She can be marked, as well, though it is an absolute no-no for him."  
  
Unable to turn my head because of the posture collar, but needing to see Richard desperately, I moved as quickly as I could, hopping to the side and turning on my toes. The women grabbed me instantly, but I didn't fight them as they allowed me to face Richard, but I was now facing a mirrored wall, and saw the couple we made, and our surreal guards, and the room behind us. It was indeed a dungeon of sorts, and I looked away quickly, confused and scared. Richard. My only source of comfort, my anchor, was gorgeous. Bound at wrist and ankle as I was, gloved and collared similarly, he was dressed in a fine, obviously expensive suit, black and slick and shiny. A silken silver tie was knotted tightly at his throat. His mask was of a different design than the one I wore. The blindfold was buckled securely to him, across the top of his head and under his ears, which were exposed along with his hair, and I saw there was tiny locks holding it in place. It covered his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, made of soft, supple leather that fit his features like a second skin. A muzzle piece cupped his chin and covered his lips, keeping his mouth closed. His head was up, shoulders back, and I was proud of him, though I could draw no strength from his posture. I wanted to cry like a child, even as my cunt twitched. I was losing what little composure and control I had left, second by second.  
  
Richard's guardians were given instructions, which Oz repeated twice for emphasis. They were like wraiths, the two men who would watch over my friend; taller even than the women on either side of me and exaggeratedly so because of the stiletto heeled, knee high boots they both wore. Muscular chests and bellies and hips were accentuated by the strange shirts they were fitted with, straps holding the garments on buckled tightly around their chests under their arms. It was sleeves, wrists to shoulders, a bit of material across the upper back, and high, stiff collars around their necks, of shimmering silver, nearly transparent, skin tight cloth. They were both in clear plastic cockcages, and shaved; legs, chests, bellies and groins. And I assumed, faces, but those were hidden behind outrageously bejeweled silver masks that flashed and shown with every movement and nod that was made. It was impossible to see their eyes. He was not to be marked, bruised, scraped, whatsoever, Oz was repeating.  
  
"His eye piece kept in place as well, at all times, and his little cage down there," he gestured dismissively. "Oh, I've got their keys, and there are copies of them in the safety deposit up front in case I am indisposed and it is an emergency, but let's make sure there aren't any emergencies, shall we? Magda, do keep an eye on her, she is for sale and your Master does the bulk of the purchasing, I hear?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," the sharp faced woman replied. She looked back at me with renewed interest, and I shivered.  
  
"Now, the chains. Needn't these anymore, and I will tell Jay you were very good traveling companions, by the way." Richard was unlocked first, and I resisted kicking at Oz as he knelt and removed the chains from my ankles, but I did snatch my hands away from him once they were freed, glaring. He smiled and leaned in close to my face. The nameless woman put her hand on the back of my head to keep me from retreating from Oz, and he laughed. "Keep it up, bitch," he whispered, "I'll be back to visit you both later." He straightened up and tugged his jacket, looking around absently. "Well! Splendid set up here, as always. I shall be...around. Ta, children, and do behave. Oh, Dee! Excellent to see you, how was Beirut?" Oz's voice trailed away as he whisked past us. I glimpsed him in the mirror walking away with a short, swarthy man dressed in white who was holding the leashes of two naked black women wearing finely tooled and realistic horse masks, complete with manes that swept their backs, and matching tails swished their ankles, secured in place by anal plugs.  
  
"She's too small to be body service, Magda," the other woman said, voice low and quick. "What do you think, just off the top?"  
  
"Entertainment, obviously. Do you even listen, Sybil? She can be hurt. Small market for a screamer though, and Master is selective about those, especially. The buyer, not the body. Who wants a screamer and why, you know?”  
  
"Oh, right. Ugh!" Sybil shook her head sadly. As they spoke, they took my arms and led me towards the center of the room.  
  
"Have to note how she takes it, is all. And what's under all this," Magda said, pinching at the satin gown cloaking me throat to toe. "Might be one for augmentation." At this, they both giggled, and I became determined to ignore them. I looked around again, taking in the surroundings. It was like a warehouse, at least in size. One huge open room, expansive enough I couldn't make out faces at either end of it. There was pillars spaced evenly throughout, like the one I was being guided to, and like the one before me, they were all outfitted with some kind of restraint or other. Dangling medieval metal shackles on some, ropes enough to make a maypole on others, and even one with wire spooled next to it, and I looked away quickly before I was certain it was barbed wire. The posts were all painted, as well. Solid green, red, white or black, or like mine, multicoloured—this striped appealingly with black, green and yellow. The pillar wasn't terribly wide, about two feet. I was halted next to it. Sybil kept a hand on my arm as Magda expertly adjusted what was to be my 'chair' for the evening, though I couldn't have guessed it then, and watched Richard instead. His bodyguards attached him by his wrists between two pillars, one white, the other red. The room was slowly filling up I noticed, as it became increasingly hard to see Richard past the nearly constant flow of bodies between us. He was about fifteen feet away, but I doubted now he could hear me if I was to make a noise over the excited hum of these strangers. The two wraiths positioned themselves on either side of him and I saw them shake their glittering heads at several people who came too close to him. What were they waiting for, I wondered. Or, whom?  
  
The people streaming by finally thinned out as they spread throughout the cavernous room. The lighting had changed as well, the overheads had been turned off, replaced by hanging crystalline chandeliers, and spot lighting on each of the pillars. There were candelabras being lighted as well, near to a handful of the pillars. Pillars which were occupied now, and I gasped in my mask as I looked. Men and women were being bound in various positions, some naked, a few like us clothed lavishly, many in between, parts of their bodies only covered or clothed to accentuate what was exposed, or to tantalize. Each of these bound slaves had guardians as we had, and they were as decorative and titillating as their charges. Shaved, pierced, veiled, hooded, masked, or collared, they were in matching pairs near their shaking and in a few cases, crying and struggling, captives, and they obviously were respected by the people who gathered around them in groups, laughing, critiquing and asking questions. The patrons were well dressed in every case; men in suits, women in evening gowns and sparkling cocktail dresses, and nearly all of them were masked. Simple black velvet pieces that disguised few features, or elaborate fairytale-like molded coverings that fit them perfectly and hid everything. It was a masquerade party, I realised, and one no one wanted to be seen attending.  
  
Sybil tightened her grip on my arm and pushed me towards the striped pillar where Magda had finished her adjustments. They forced me gently but firmly to my knees on a padded cushion and, pulling my dress up to my thighs, maneuvered me back against the pillar until it was between my spread legs. My ankles were secured tightly behind me, and cuffs attached to the pillar already were buckled above my knees. My arms were drawn back and cuffed at the elbows and wrists to the pillar as well. All of this wouldn't have been uncomfortable but for the bar jutting out, pressed into my back under my shoulder blades, forcing my back into an arch. The stiff collar was locked as well, and with difficulty I could strain against it and see Richard. After a few long, uncomfortable minutes, I heard shuffling noises, followed by loud thumps, and 'oohs' and 'ahhs' emitted by the crowd. There was a thump close to me and I saw it was a table carried by two slaves and placed near Richard. His wraiths inspected it. One picked up a paper and showed it to the other and they seemed to discuss it at some length, their jeweled masks flaring and sparking. At last, one released Richard's wrists from the ropes holding them stretched out to either side, and raised them instead over his head, holding them tightly as the other stripped off Richard's suit. Each piece was carefully folded and laid on the table next to him, shoes tucked neatly together beneath it, and by the time the slacks were tugged down his legs, a small, avid crowd had gathered around. I could see him through gaps between the bodies, bodies which were mostly men, I noticed distantly. There was indeed a hoist dangling from the ceiling and one of the silvery men lowered it before they both were moving quickly and efficiently around his now naked form. His mask was still in place, and I saw he had a new cage covering his cock, holding it tightly to his body, cupping his balls as well in slender metal bars, and padlocked into place. His arms were bound behind him, hand to either elbow and roped expertly and beautifully in soft, silver rope, wrists, forearms and around his chest. His chest was to hold most of his weight, and the rope was wound around itself for strength and then secured to the hoist. Tension was introduced to help him as his right leg was grasped by one of the men and lifted so Richard had to pivot and twist his body to find his balance. That he didn't struggle surprised me at first, but I realised he knew it would get him nothing at this point. There was no James to bargain with, no one who understood his fears and breaking points, who knew exactly how to make Richard feel what he needed to feel. We were puppets here, to be manipulated and played with and walked away from when the users tired of us. What we want or needed or couldn't bear was of little concern to these people. There were limitations of the flesh. What might happen to our psyches was inconsequential. He wasn't fighting because he knew it was of no use, and he needed his strength to simply endure.  
  
A table banged down next to me, distracting me from the rest of Richard's preparation. Attention filtered my way now as the tools of my torture were made available. I wondered if my position was to be changed accordingly, but it was not the same for me. The table was laden with floggers, crops, canes, rings of rubber I didn't understand the use of, candles, paddles, clamps and weights, and most frightening, a long, thin-bladed knife. Unlike Richard as well, I did struggle, but it did nothing except make my shoulders cramp as I tugged on them. Magda and Sybil read over a paper which came with the table and nodded to each other, looking over the table to make sure all the equipment for the patrons was available. Magda stepped forward.  
  
"As indicated by the green, this one is for sale. There is a hold price, however. She has had one previous owner. Twenty seven, cis-female, fifty-nine kilos, 1.69 meters tall. A small bid to wet the auction, if you please!" Magda held up the thin knife. "Her clothes come off at two!"  
  
Immediately a woman cried from edge of the crowd where I could not turn my head to see, "Ten, if I can do it myself!" The small crowd laughed and parted way for her. Magda smiled thinly. "Mistress Q, certainly, if there are no further bids?" There was another riff of laughter, but nothing else. A peacock feathered masked woman appeared in my line of sight, plucked the knife from Magda and with ill concealed glee, approached me, knife first.  
  
It took her some time to get most of the material of the dress off of my body, and scared beyond measure, I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and tried not to flinch away. There was nowhere for me to go, of course, but it gave me a tiny feeling of control, if a false one. There was laughter as the woman tugged and ripped, but it was at my expense, not hers. She was enjoying herself, pausing several time to peer at my face, making sure the blade was visible to me, and tapping it against the chastity belt over my groin when it was exposed. There were a few sounds of disappointment when it was visible. Magda spoke up at that.  
  
"Please, check your programme, for this and all other slaves, and the colour markers, as you make the rounds, and ask the Pairs when in doubt, or if you have any questions. There is something here for everyone's needs!"  
  
When the masked woman was done, there was only scraps of the satin under the ropes at my wrist, and the woman reluctantly handed the blade back to Magda. She and Sybil stepped back out of my line of sight and I was alone. Tears burned at my eyes as I finally willed myself to look at the people surrounding me, the first black rivulets making their way down my cheeks to disappear under my muzzle. A few of them were nervous, standing close to a companion or half turned away in feigned disinterest, and none of them met my eyes. A handful were gazing hungrily at the table, and again it was a woman, in a shimmering russet ballgown and a bejeweled red leather mask with a witches' hooked nose, who made the first move.  
  
"Look at her bruises! Why," she said with a thick Spanish accent, "she must be a disobedient girl to have so many. No wonder her Master doesn't want her." She put her hand over my mouth, and I smelled lemons before she pinched the rivets allowing me to breathe shut. "Terrible slave girl," she mocked, and spit on my cheek. I could do nothing, not even recoil, the bar across my back preventing any movement. Her other hand grabbed and squeezed my left breast, hard. She twisted her handful of flesh and I tried not to scream. She took a step back and gestured. A man, his face veiled in black lace held in place at his throat by a stiff crimson collar, and clad otherwise in a simple black, skintight Lycra bodysuit, stepped towards his Mistress  
  
"Angel, beat her for me," the woman commanded, and handed him a heavy, many-tasseled leather flogger. She said something in a language I could not understand, but the meaning was clear in a moment when he brought the flogger down on my right thigh. I did not want to scream, did not want to give into the pain or let these terrible people control me that way. I fought them with my silence as long as I could, even through the agony of someone caning my thighs and then my breasts. I couldn't stand looking at them, couldn't bear the disorientating, rainbow blur of grotesquely anonymous monsters hurting me, but I could see Richard finally as the crowd for some indiscernible reason shifted so I had a clear view of him, and the sight of him made my own torment a distant, vague sensation, at least for a while. Suspended and held up by his chest, his right leg tied at thigh, knee and calf and stretched out, suspended as well, his left ankle secured to the floor, he was bent in a weird, obscene parody of a ballet move, bent slightly at the waist, his head down low. His muzzle had been replaced by a huge spider gag which spread his mouth open to what must have been painfully wide, even for him. His eye mask and cage were still in place. He was trembling obviously, seemingly unwilling to allow the ropes to hold him up completely, or it could have been in fear of the people around him. Naked, masked men were running their hands over his body even as they were being sucked to stiffness by other slaves, men and women either brought along for this task or supplied by the party when they were in pairs, matching collars indicative of their origin. When the first man shoved his slave away and stepped to Richard's lowered head, he writhed, briefly, but there was no escaping the invasion. The man's cock disappeared into Richard's mouth and down his throat until his lips were sealed against the other man's body. He was held there even as another man, his greased cock in hand, moved behind Richard. James' training with the inflatable cock was put on trial in that moment, and appeared to have been warranted when there was no reaction from Richard as the cock was shoved into his body. What followed was a stream of men using Richard, fucking him relentlessly. There was always one at his mouth it seemed, and soon his body was reacting on its own, streaming thick saliva, easing the way for the merciless cocks. He was throat-fucked until he was gagging, heaving and retching, fighting to breathe, but even then he turned his head when someone neared him, offering his mouth, seeking their cocks or fingers, tongue out and flicking around whatever was offered. I was confused and painfully aroused at the different ways he was treated by the men; how some were vicious, jabbing their cocks like swords into him, trying to hurt him, what was visible of their faces twisted in contempt, how they laughed at him as he tried to please them as best he could, and how they were the ones who fucked his face after they had his ass, how they made a show of forcing him to clean himself from their bodies, while others seemed to delight in him, how they fucked him slowly, carefully, watching his body move with their own and smiling and talking to him, though I could not hear what was said. They put their hands on his belly, pressing to feel themselves move inside of him, they rubbed his straining body, one even spit water into this mouth and kept his head up so he could swallow it.  
  
My attention was pulled away from Richard by a familiar, hated voice. Oz had a black masquerade mask over his eyes and two young, drunk Japanese men under each arm with huge, glittering pink eyelashes and matching lipstick, their hands hidden away in pink pouches. He was talking to the Spanish woman in the dark orange dress.  
  
"Oh, I happen to know her personally, and her Master, too, dear friend of mine. No, no try these things, they look dreadful!" I glared at him, though I could not see what he was indicating.  
  
It was those rings which had confused me earlier the woman had in her hands. The black ring was stretched wide inside a metal frame with a little knob on each frame, and springs attaching the ring to the metal. Oz took the first frame and the placed it over my right breast, flat against my chest. The women grabbed my nipple and used it to lift and hold my breast out from my body while Oz turned the little knob. The ring began to shrink inside the frame until I could feel it encircling my breast. As it shrank, becoming tighter, I could feel little spikes forming. They had been hidden at first when the device was stretched out, but as it became smaller, they dug into my flesh, keeping the ring from slipping down off my breast. Oz turned the knob slowly, keeping the frame firmly against my chest so the ring was as far back on my breast as possible, until finally it was released from the springs with a deft movement on Oz's part. My nipple was released and the frame taken away and they stood back to take in their handiwork. The ring continued to shrink, inexorably, and then painfully, the little teeth digging in, the ring garroting my breast until it ballooned with trapped blood. My other breast was soon captured and treated the same, and the woman seemed especially delighted with the outcome, running painted, manicured nails over the now purple and bulging cane marks, and pulling on my distended nipples. I could barely feel her touch, which I was grateful for when she selected a small pair of clamps from the table and pinched them over my nipples and screwed them on tightly. There was shiny silver weights available and she picked up the largest of the two and hung them from the short chain stretched between my nipples. A renewed interest rippled through the people nearest to me, an almost entirely different set of people now as everyone was drifting around, taking in all the party had to offer, and it was this group that broke my will not to scream, finally. Women were the worst. They were merciless and delighted in beating my swollen breasts and knew every other sensitive spot on my body to abuse. My hips, my upper arms, the sides of my buttocks, they carefully aimed and broke canes across these spots as I tried to focus again on Richard. Two men were trying, laughingly, to fit both their cocks into his open mouth, while a third was talking to another woman animatedly, buried to the balls in Richard's ass.  
  
"Look how wet she is! Her thighs are soaked," a dark skinned woman exclaimed, pointing and throwing her head back, her laugh exposing vampire-like canines.  
  
"She loves hurting. Don't you, pet?" Oz supplied. He was leaning against the post and I could hear but could not see the two boys in pink kissing each other at his feet. The dark woman, her nails sharpened to points, was lifting and dropping my blood engorged breasts, dragging her knife-like nails over them until blood was drawn. She gasped as her nails broke my skin and so did I, raggedly moaning. Magda stepped into my view.  
  
"Please, Mistress. Only the tools available are permitted," she said, politely but firmly, head bowed.  
  
"Of course," the woman said, but I knew she was embarrassed at the reprimand. She glared at me from behind a silk mask which covered her cheeks and brow but left her full red lips and large dark eyes visible. She inspected the table and snatched up the wand Oz had moved to the center, to attract attention to it. I closed my eyes as she brought it towards me, and saw bright suns erupt behind my lids when she jammed it against my left breast. I was lost then, I felt myself drop away from what was happening, falling backwards into the pillar and to the floor, through it and into a black space where I had no body, could hear nothing, but I could not escape the agony of the shocks. They were everywhere consciousness was and even as my awareness and thoughts rolled and twisted away, it was like I was swimming in an ocean of sparks. Endlessly, I was sinking, pinpricks of pain building slowly, so slowly, into a constant, bone breaking assault and I came up from the abyss screaming. The laughter was barely discernible over my own voice.  
  
"Raise the seat, I want to fuck her!"  
  
"Of course, Master," I heard Sybil reply and I panicked, gasping for breath to scream again as I felt my platform tremble and then I was smoothly being lifted. But it was not my pussy the man was interested in, and once my seat was elevated enough, a man straddled my thighs and put his cock between my breasts. He pressed on the sides of my tits, smashing them together around his dick and spitting on them, slicking the motion. He came quickly, spurting on my chest and grunting, and I felt the little teeth on the rings were going to saw through my flesh. Another man stepped forward, cock replacing the one which had just left me. I was soon covered in come, the sour smell of it making me want to gag, the feel of it sliding down my chest and drying on my tits humiliating, and then one of the men brought the wand back, and I screamed so hard I saw the stars again.  
  
"She's pissed herself!" There was another wave of laughter, and a cheer of approval just before I felt a hot stream hit my thighs. Another man joined in, pissing on my breasts, washing away the mess. Another aimed higher and I worried vaguely about drowning as I felt it pour into my mask. I had no choice but to suck it into my mouth and swallow. A woman squatted over me and pissed as well, spraying my lap with an unbelievable amount of urine even as a man stepped to the side to avoid the puddle on the floor and masturbated onto my face. The woman, still leaking a few last splashes onto me, rubbed his come into my eyes and I wailed in pain. Her fingers came away smeared with black makeup and I knew I must be an utter mess. I remembered the mirror suddenly, and even though I dreaded what I would see, I tried to find myself on the opposite wall. It was a relief my eyes were blurred and burning from piss and tears and come when I could barely make out my arched, distorted body, only identifiable by the swollen purple breasts jutting from my chest and the shine of the wet chastity belt. I heard a shuffle around me and then a bucket of cold water was poured over me. I squealed as another was tossed at me, making my breasts sting and sway. The come and piss was washed away momentarily. I drifted as someone lashed down onto my wet tits with the flogger. I was now crying out almost constantly, muffled and suffocating in my mask. I found Richard, able to see him clearly after I had cried more and washed away some of the come clinging to my eyelashes.  
  
Hours had passed; I understood that only as I watched him being released from suspension. A thick stack of gym mats had been drug near to him, and his silver ghosts, with the help of three other men, one of whom had given him water earlier, gently lowered his leg and held him up as he collapsed, his other leg useless as well. He was carried to the mats, the naked men laughing and chatting with one another, the wraiths locking a bar to his ankles, keeping him immobile and his legs spread wide. He was wiped down with a wet, steaming towel, and more water was spit slowly into his open mouth and I could see his throat working to swallow. He nuzzled against the hand of the man holding his head, twisting until he found fingers and his tongue lapped at them. I wanted him to fight them now. Abruptly, I was angry at him for being so submissive, for his compliance, for always being treated gently while I suffered. I raged at him, screeching, for being so far away, for being unable to help me, and at James, too, for abandoning us. But even as the anger flooded me, the image of James caused it to ebb. I had hurt him. We had both hurt him, Richard and I. Although it wasn't usually apparent, James was the one suffering more than either of us. I was getting what I truly wanted! I sometimes forgot because of momentary discomfort, but I chose him and chose this path and he was doing his best to give me what I wanted. Richard had made his choice as well and I had consented to, welcomed even, anything that helped him. But it was so easy to think James was getting everything he wanted from us, too, to assume he was content in his position, to forget he had to keep a constant distance between himself and Richard, physically and emotionally, and that my easy, loving relationship with Richard had to pain him, confuse him. I had followed James' lead as he'd followed mine since the first night we'd met, but it was aloofness I mimicked with him, I kept myself friendly but ambivalent to his feelings without putting much thought into the possibility he might be shy, that James might be self-conscious beneath his seemingly uncaring demeanor. What was happening to us now was because he wanted our love, he was desperate for it, needed it to keep going forward. He wanted us to see the difference—this clinical, impersonal, highly demanding trial where we were subject to every sadistic whim of cruel Masters with little responsibility to their faceless, inhuman charges who they assume have no desires, wants or needs other than to mindlessly serve, compared to his sometimes brutal but personalised attention. He wanted us to want him, to appreciate him and his efforts and have that be the reason we continued to need him, want him, submit to him, beg for his attentions. Because we were real to him, his friends and lovers.  
  
Nothing these greedy, sadistic people could do would hurt me as deeply and painfully as realising I'd been taking for granted James' sacrifice and his love. I needed him now, and Richard was my link to him in this place. I couldn't see him through the press of bodies around me, and I screamed then in frustration. The sound must have been different to my handlers, and because there was no one actually touching me when I had shrieked, it must have been a signal I was unaware they were listening for. Magda abruptly stepped between me and an approaching patron.  
  
"Masters and Mistresses, this slave will be retired for the evening, though there will be a later viewing for prospective buyers—the times are on your programmes," she announced loudly. I whimpered when I was reminded I might not be going back home. I sought Richard again. The people wandered away and without their rustle around me, I was assaulted by the sounds of torture and pleasure coming from the huge hall around me. I could hear the cracking of whips and the screams and pleas of men and women, and the drunken, excited laughter and urgings of others. There were cries of pleasure as well, and in the mirror I spotted close to my right side a group of mostly naked, masked people writhing in a pile, though it was impossible to tell if the red smears which stained most of them, face, hands, legs, was blood or wine or something else, or what was the source of this orgy, though there was an empty black post with a glistening trail down its front, and empty, closed manacles dangling over it. I shuddered. Richard! I could see him now, and focused on him even as the two women bustled around me, removing me from the post. He was like a limp doll between two men, and they were both in his ass, their cocks rubbing against each other's as they pistoned in and out of him. One, a dark haired Middle Eastern man with black eyes, a long, thin nose and a smattering of dark freckles across his hawkish face, visible because he'd forgone the mask at some point, was laying on his back on the mats, holding Richard tightly across his chest and whispering rapidly into his ear, and Richard was responding, shaking or nodding his head variously, twitching and arching as much as he could though he was held down by one man and covered by another, the man who had given him water and had returned to him several times now. He was tall and muscular, blond hair which had been hidden by a hood before visible now and in a long tousled braid down his back. He, too, was missing his anonymity, and on his knees, he was focused on where his cock was spreading Richard wide. He put his large hand over Richard's cock cage and said something and the other man laughed. Richard twisted in their grip and the blond man slapped his chest, growling, accent apparent even with that guttural noise. Icelandic? Norwegian? One of the men in silver stepped forward, but the Viking waved him away, rolling his grey eyes, but rubbing an apologetic palm over Richard's chest, then using both hands to caress his shoulders and pluck at his nipples. Richard moaned now and the dark man put his fingers into Richard's pried open mouth, and then he shouted without looking around. A slender young man, hairless and the colour of coal appeared, his member already hard. He knelt next to Richard's head, opening his knees and sliding down as far as he could. The Arab gently pushed Richard's head over the boy's cock and motioned his slave to keep up the rhythm.  
  
"They're so sexy, aren't they?" Sybil whispered into my ear, startling me. My reply was a scream of pain as she snipped off the coil around my left tit. I screamed again, intense, brief agony flaming across my chest as the other ring was removed and blood moved through my breasts again. I thought Richard might have heard me when I saw his hand flex, fingers spreading wide, but he was pinned, the men working themselves over and in him. The Viking had control now, holding Richard down by the hips and pounding into him, grunting and sweating. The dusky skinned man on the bottom was mostly still, eyes closed, a smile on his wide mouth, white teeth bared as the black boy thrust with small, quick movements into Richard's mouth, barely withdrawing, his smooth, shining balls nearly slipping inside his open mouth as well.  
  
"You did very good," Sybil was saying to me, half watching what I was watching. Magda looked over her shoulder, sighed, and began to release my wrists. "You took much more than we bet upon, you did! Helped, did it, to see him? He's the only male sex slave we have tonight. There are always those who don't want their toy all beat on and hurt, but like them tied up and unwilling still," she snickered. I could barely understand her, uncaring and overwhelmed by the agony of my body being able to move after so many hours. Sybil held me as I threatened to collapse once my collar was released from the pillar and with my arms now free, I fell forward away from the hard post that had kept my spine arched so unnaturally. My legs tingled with feeling, but there was no way I was going to be able to walk on my own. My heels were finally removed and it was Magda who pulled me into her arms and lifted me carefully. When I realised they were taking me away, relief was obliterated by fear. I screamed once more, loudly, my throat burning, kicking my legs and fighting pitifully against this amazon holding me, and my own useless body. I was suddenly sure I would lose my mind if I was alone, if I didn't have Richard to turn to. If they separated us now, I knew I would never go home. I screamed desperately, and it was then Richard resisted. He shook off the black boy even as come splattered over his face. The boy gasped and fell back, looking with frightened eyes at his Master, who cursed beautifully and strained to hold Richard down as he struggled to sit up. The Viking pushed the other man's hands away and used Richard's own movements to pull him up and I heard Richard sob as the two men went as deep as they could go into his body. The Viking laughed approvingly and cupped Richard's head against his chest and I could see Richard was still bound tightly, arms discoloured, hands purple, and I knew he must be in incredible pain. The spreader bar between his legs rattled, but it was pinned against the mats by both men's legs and there was nothing he could do. The last sight of him I had was of the two men using him pulling on him like children fighting over a toy and then Magda carried me out of the hall.  
  
There was loud music being piped through the hallways I was carried down, to disguise the sounds coming from the many rooms we passed, most guarded by a Pair, some open and fantastically decorated inside. Kinks of every design and colour and accoutrements had been accommodated here. There were doors that opened into detailed prison cell blocks, ones that looked like horse stables down to the straw on the floor. One was like a child’s room, with a frilly pink canopy bed, crayon drawings on the walls, squeaky dog toys on the floor and pile of clean cloth diapers folded on a yellow dresser. A room that might have spit up the two silver gilt men Richard was guarded by blazoned with thousands of little reflections as if the room was a giant disco ball, and I shut my eyes against the glare, and kept them shut, trying to forget where I was for a moment. I felt Magda stop for a moment, heard a door open and I was deposited, not unkindly, onto a low slab of a bed. There was a plastic cushion and a thin sheet in the black walled room, a small light on the wall and a toilet and sink, and nothing else aside from the drain in the floor.  
  
“Wait here. You will be attended to soon,” Magda said briskly, and ushered Sybil out of the room. The latter gave me a wan smile through the glass window in the door as it was locked from the outside, and I was left alone.  
  
Immediately, I put my hands to my muzzle, hoping to prize it off and wash my face. I smelled and tasted piss and come and my own salty tears, and the mixture burned my cheeks. My eyes were crusted, and I wanted to get the taste of my ordeal out of my mouth desperately. But there were little locks blocking my way, and with a whimper I gave up. I tried to lower my head enough to see my body, wondering if the marks looked as bad as they felt, but my posture collar prevented that as well. I could at least wash my breasts and legs and splash water over my crotch, and I carefully tested my balance. My ankles and knees ached, but the blood was flowing again and I tottered to the sink and, making a huge mess of water on the floor in the process, managed to clean myself somewhat. I was stubbornly cupping water against my crotch, wanting to wash away all the slick evidence there, when I saw a figure at the window of my cell. I scurried away, back to the slab, and pulled the sheet against my body, clutching it to my chest as if it could shield me from any more violations.  
  
It was Oz. He was alone, and looking decidedly grumpy about being the one to attend me. He had pink glitter on his face and tuxedo, and I wanted to laugh at him, but I flinched instead as he kicked the door closed and, carefully sidestepping the puddle I had made, he hurried towards me, fumbling in his pockets.  
  
“Dumb little cunt,” he muttered and snatched at my braid, twisting my head away so he could put key to lock. “I’ll not be doing this again, be sure of that, babysitting a bint like you at a party like this. Oh, no! Not this chappy. James owes me, that’s for certain. Fucking hold still!” He jerked my head around and the last lock was opened and the wet, stinking leather was peeled away from my face. “Gross. Go wash yourself, and fix your bloody hair. You’ve got buyers and it won’t do the price any good if you’re all muddled up,” he commanded after he had removed the posture collar as well.  
  
I ran the water as hot as I could stand it and scrubbed with my palms at my face and neck until I was as clean as I could be without soap. I had drug the sheet with me and now used it to dry my face and body, though when I tried to turn my back to him, he snapped at me to face him so I would not be seen by anyone outside the door. I shouldn’t have bothered turning away from Oz in the first place, I realised. He picked glitter from beneath his fingernails, sighing impatiently from time to time, ignoring me. I rebraided my hair and pulled the last bits of cloth from beneath my cuffs, shuddering as I inspected my beaten breasts and thighs, glancing away from the marks quickly, feeling suddenly light headed. I bent my head under the sink and guzzled water, then Oz tossed me the pieces of my muzzle and mask and I dutifully rinsed and dried them as well, then I stood, leather dangling from my fist, my back to the door, refusing to move unless directed. Oz gave another dramatic sigh and looked up at me. Suddenly, I realised I had seen him before, and I remember hearing him say a name I had willingly forgotten. Sarah, he had said, when Richard had arrived—was it only this morning? What day was it? Sarah, he said, maybe she would—what? I saw Oz, or rather saw the back of him, from a height and distance, my nipples burning, James squirming in the seat next to mine, and I saw Sarah, glowing, sitting beside Oz in the theatre below us, an hour before James had fucked her in the Bentley. Ozzy is waiting, she had said, and left us. Freed James, left him in my arms. And now, here I was, snared by her companion that night, and I was lost. Hopeless. What she had failed to do, he was finishing. Ripping me away from James. Oz opened his mouth, but I stepped towards him before he had to command it. He made a quizzical little frown, then shrugged and snatched the now clean mask out of my hand. My hair was threaded through the top again and the cap was secured to the collar, and I was unable to look down again. The muzzle was fitted around my jaw and over my lips, which were quivering. Oz looked me over, unbraided my hair, and nodded, and the locks clicked into place. He went to the door and flung it open. “God, can I go now? You can’t see her stupid little face. Good, alright, fuck off.”  
  
Sybil entered the cell and inspected the mask’s locks, and my body, and then wrapped a new, small black corset around my ribs, under my bruised breasts, cinching it very tightly. She drew my hands together, giving me a searching look when I did not resist at all, and deftly cuffed them by the wrists to each other with soft leather bindings. A leash was clipped to my collar, and she stepped away from me, pausing to see if I would follow obediently. I did. There was no way out of this predicament. I was lost inside the building, Richard was torn from me, James was as well as a million miles away and he had given me over to this place, delivered me to these malicious strangers by way of Oz, who kept the company of the woman who poisoned James, who hurt him, and now he was passing on that cruelty to me, and I was alone, with nothing to show me the way except this strip of leather connected to a simple slave who turned without a word and led me out of the cell and into terror.

"She is perfect."

"Too tall, but that can be changed."

"Can she take a knot?"

"What is her blood type? The Master needs a new donor."

I was grateful when my eyes were hooded again, though I wished I was deaf as well. Unbelievable fetishes were rattled off around me and, most frighteningly, no answer from my handlers was given that I could discern, only the flutter of papers handed over. Information on my abilities, qualities, instructions on my care and handling. I got a small glance at the faces of the buyers as I was lead along the row of slaves up for auction and now my ears was full of their torturous fantasies. We were inspected, poked, prodded, pinched and discussed like livestock before the silent bidding started and the auction was an eternity spent in fear and anxiety. A scared wail to the right of me announced the end of the bidding, and it rippled down the row as we were all roughly, suddenly, grabbed by unknown hands and herded to our new lives, bought and paid for. I was led by my upper arm for a distance, then shoved against a wall. When my heart slowed its pounding in my ears, I became aware of other slaves near me again, identifiable by their occasional whimpering, sniffling and rattling of chains. One, his muffled, quiet weeping a familiar tone, was Richard. I couldn't locate him, and settled on letting out a high pitched squeal, hoping he would recognise me. Whether he did and responded was overwhelmed with the noise of metal banging and wheels squeaking.

Around me, slaves weakly struggled as they were manhandled. I was concentrating so hard on trying to hear Richard again, I didn't notice when a loud bang settled in front of me, and when I felt a sharp, painful pinch near my shoulder I winced away but strong hands shook me slightly, annoyed perhaps. I tried to squeal one last time, but it died before the thought could become noise and suddenly I felt as though I were being dipped in very warm water. There was no fighting the feeling. I was floating, suspended in gentle heat, my feet wanting to trade places with my head, and it seemed a fantastic idea. I was utterly unknowing of what was happening to me after that; that I was lifted into a sort of metal and plastic dog crate missing its top half at first. I was shifted into a kneeling position and belts were fitted around me to secure me there, then the top of the crate was secured. Through a small opening in the front, far too small for me to pass through, the top would have to be removed again, hands attached a strap around my head, holding it from drooping so I would not strangle myself with my collar.

My crate was lifted onto a handcart and rolled into a waiting vehicle. I don't know how long I drifted in the soup of the drug I was administered, but it faded enough eventually for me to realise I was trapped and utterly helpless. There was panic at first, but distantly, and it wasn't interesting anymore. What was interesting now were the sensations I could barely feel through my haze. I was still in chastity, the belt restricting my breathing just enough to make me savour each breath as hard won. I was not gagged, but my tight muzzle was digging into my cheeks and lips, and it made me think of the opposite, of the boys I had glimpsed in a room, their faces distorted and bulging, the pink, wet insides of their mouths visible, their tongues sliding mindlessly around their clear plugs, a constant invitation to soft, warm, wet pleasure. I wanted my mouth filled, like my ass was. I felt a slight cramp in my guts then, and realised I hadn't been to the bathroom in...how long? When would I be able to next? Would my new Master think of it as a priority, or something to torment me with?

I decided I would not fight whomever and whatever happened next, that my humanity and humility were no long necessary or needed, that pleasure and servitude would be my identity. There was no living for me outside of this now. My life before this moment—my body reduced to cargo, my wants and needs and fears taken away with a pinprick—was a tenuous sensation of longing, of heart pounding love, but of what and whom, I was incapable of remembering. I languished in the memory, the sensation, jostling around very slightly in transport, and I was unaware when I forgot about it entirely. Instead, my guts twisted again, and my attention was drawn back to my stretched and filled ass. I liked the pain in my body, and I wanted more. I tried rocking, then arching my back, to feel the plug inside me, to feel even the discomfort of my knees bent as they were, but the drug was too strong. Instead, I made up pain. I thought about being disfigured as I'd seen other slaves, of having my breasts injected with saline until they were ballooned and searing, of having my ability to orgasm taken away with surgery, of being made mute by snipping of my vocal cords, and why that would be done. So I could scream, or go through the motions of it at least, and not disturb my Master's ears.

I had felt pain, I knew this, I remembered this much, but there was always the promise of release, of aftercare, and I was sure now, I had to accept, that was not going to be the way I was to be treated from now on. Perhaps blinded, cosmetically or permanently, I would never again see a look of worry or trepidation or sorrow for an act done, nor would I see a look of pride at my endurance. I was nothing, just a tiny awareness in a body meant only to serve. I nearly came at the prospect. I strained at my bonds, needing sensation. What could be done to me were I paralyzed, amputated, pierced, stretched? I would live for the pain, for the next trial, I would give myself over completely and willingly to be used, because—and the thought floated out of an abyss cosmically vast—I had lost the right to be loved. I loved, I was sure of it, but even it would be pain from now on, perhaps the worst pain of all, one I could inflict on myself when I was not being used, deserving of it still. It would be the one thing I would fight to hold onto, my feelings of love, and how I had lost someone else’s. Everything else was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make. I wanted it taken away from me, everything that was ‘me’, that had brought me to this place and time.

James’ voice came to me in a dream. I heard him murmuring sweetly, the sound swirling around me as I floated, numb but for the itch of wetness between my legs. My name was said, and I merely cataloged it, something else to torment myself with privately. I was bumped and tossed suddenly, and gasped, my dreaming mind fearful of going under, of losing the memory of his voice before I could give it away myself.

“When will she come out of it?”  
  
“Eh, quarter hour, at the most. Wears off suddenly. Anything else, Sir?”  
  
“What? No, no. Thank you—that is, oh, just go.”  
  
“Very well, Sir.”  
  
Breathing easily was the clue that I was no longer in chastity. I was warm, and wet all over. I tried to lift my head and could not, and my open eyes took in fuzzy, dim shapes. My tongue refused to move other than to make a small clicking noise against the roof of my mouth, but otherwise I felt good. Clean, relieved, though rather thirsty and hungry. This time, James’ voice was a certainty, not a fever dream.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
Richard's reply was made in a small, exhausted voice. He was very close to me. "Please don't ever leave us again. I'm sorry, really sorry, James, that I ever said or made you feel I wasn't grateful for you. I have never felt so isolated. I liked having not to think, to be accepted for what I am. But I understand better what people can and do view us as, and I'm thankful I didn't know about that place before and that I am with you instead. I don't know how many men used me. One wanted me—"  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
  
“No. I’m not, but she is. I could hear her, and I was so afraid for her. You said we’d be ok, but it was hard to believe. I could smell the blood in that place.” I felt a shudder of revulsion pass through him, piecing together that Richard was holding me, that I was lying on his chest and his arms were around me. “They took her away after a long time, and I was told...horrible things. What could happen to her...”  
  
“It’s not too bright now?” James was somewhere above us, and I blinked, trying to focus on him, but the room was dark, though he may have been the grey shape drifting in and out of view.  
  
“It’s better. I never want to be in darkness for so long again. The things you begin to see, what your mind makes up, tells you you’re surrounded by... Everything else was heightened. I could hear her breathing even though I didn’t know how far away she was. I think she’s awake.”  
  
I felt James’ warm, calloused hand against my cheek. “Princess, can you see me?”  
  
“Mmm,” I managed, but nodded. His worried face was in view and everything around him was slowly taking shape. I was home. But why?  
  
“Hate me?”  
  
“Oh, Tara, of course not.”  
  
“I do. Stupid girl.”  
  
“Shush. You’re not, you are precious.”  
  
“Don’t want us anymore.”  
  
“But I do. I’ll show you.”  
  
“Oh, oh!” Richard sucked in a sharp breath. James’ hand was still pressed to my face, but his other was grasping Richard’s cock at the base, behind his balls, both of which were free of their cage now as well.

Looking up at me, James slowly opened his mouth and covered Richard’s cock with it, his tongue out and pulsing. The arching of his back forced me up and away from them, and I sat unaided for the first time in what seemed like forever, but Richard’s hand fumbled for mine, keeping me from escaping, which I only realised I had intended to do once I couldn’t. His hand now on Richard’s chest, James pushed him down, never removing his mouth though his tongue was unable to lap at Richard’s balls now as he was long and hard. He scooted towards James, sliding down the couch until his ass was at the edge, moaning, the noise mixed pleasure and disbelief, and when James released him, it became a little protest. James stood, shedding his clothes before putting his hands around my waist and picking me up. He sat me gently down on Richard’s lap and returned to his kneeling position in front of us, between Richard’s parted legs.  
  
“She’s shaking,” remarked Richard.  
  
“Don’t be frightened, princess. I won’t let you go again, I promise you,” James crooned to me as he coaxed my legs apart as well, slinging them over Richard’s. “You are mine. You both are, and you belong here, together.”

When his breath warmed my thighs, I could feel the lacerations from the many canes, and when the heat went higher and his lips brushed my mound, the deep bruising from the chastity belt’s constant pressure made me sob. As his tongue twisted its way into my pussy, clear, precise, detailed memories flooded over me. James’ coldness and cruelty, our abandonment and the pain. So many people, monsters, had hurt me, brutalised me until I had become nothing but fear and agony, until I had given up and accepted that’s what my life would be from then on. And I absolutely could not reconcile this tenderness now with that experience. I screamed, and the sound was so familiar and comforting I knew it was of the same sound Richard had heard that had scared him. I tried to pry Richard’s hands off me, thoughtlessly digging at him with my nails, scratching his arms, but he held on, even as I threw my head back and screamed again, arching wildly and kicking my legs at James to fend him off.  
  
“Tara! No, please, please don’t do this,” James cried, and instead of moving away from my flailing legs, he came closer, pressing me down on Richard’s body, catching my wrists and drawing my hands up to my chest. Richard spread his legs and went up on his toes, limiting my movement so I could merely knock my heels against James’ hips and thighs. My wrists were squeezed with increasing pressure and the feeling of being controlled, captive, calmed me a little. I was panting from exertion, but when James’ face came close to mine, I was suddenly terrified he was going to kiss me, a thought and action still so alien to my world now that I snapped at him, then twisted like a snake, trying to bite Richard, too, just for his proximity. James struggled with my arms until he was sure Richard had them securely by the wrists, crossed over my breasts, and then his hands caught my head, managing to avoid my teeth. I hated what I was doing but I could not stop. I felt— _knew—_ that I needed to be hurt, even if it meant first hurting one of them. James had one hand on my forehead and the other at my throat, and he squeezed the latter with gentle force, slowly increasing it, watching me with a look I wanted to spit at him for. But suddenly the sense of imprisonment returned, and a shuddering sigh escaped me. James held me there for a long moment before removing his hands, though they hovered close. I glared up at him, my mind a maelstrom, thoughtless, wordless, a reactive centre.  
  
Working together, they moved my arms down to either side, and James’ touch on my breasts was feather light. I hissed as he ran his thumbs over my nipples, and the pressure returned as he pushed down on my chest until I was gasping. Richard was struggling beneath me as well, my weight and James’ almost too much for him, but he kept his hands around my wrists.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you, Tara,” James said, and I whimpered. “I won’t. I know that’s what you want. You’re not ruined, sweet girl, and I missed you so much.” Distantly, I felt my teeth begin to chatter, and cold tears were leaking from my eyes and splashing onto Richard’s neck. “It’s not the only thing I want from you. I don’t just want you to suffer. I have been terrible to you, because I was jealous and scared. Will you forgive me?”  
  
I sobbed but I didn’t fight him when he caressed my breasts this time. That he was sorry, that _he_ was hurting, was confusing, distracting, and I closed my eyes, retreating from his pain, trying to find my own as an anchor. But where was it? Hadn’t I had enough? Wasn’t there pain enough between the three of us? What had come before? James. I’d wanted to be back with him so I could show him how much I loved him, and fighting him now was hurting him further.  
  
He seemed to sense my surrender. His kisses drifted over my breasts and shoulders, down my arms, and I realised he was kissing my bruises and cuts, he was noting each of them, and I gave over to him the pain of them, letting him take it away with his lips. He always knew better than either of us beneath him what to do with it. Richard still held my wrists, but I was able to touch his thighs before I turned my head towards him, wanting him to know I wasn’t going to hurt him, I just wanted to see him. His eyes were wet as well, and he blinked a few stray tears away and then gasped, and I felt his hard cock against my pussy, and James’ lips and tongue swirling around and over us both. He let Richard thrust into his mouth, then rubbed his wet cock around my pussy, over my aching clit, and his tongue would dart lower, lapping at my ass and the base of Richard’s cock, then back up, swallowing the cock again until Richard was moaning, then he used the head to bring me closer to orgasm.

When he guided Richard into my cunt and held us still so he could suck on the hard shaft half buried in me, Richard finally let go of my hands. He grabbed my tits and squeezed, running his hands over my ribs and belly and down to my thighs, pulling my legs up and out wide. I could twist more now, enough to kiss him, and it was as wonderful as ever. I sucked on his tongue, clenching my pussy around him in time with my kiss. James clamped his own mouth over my clit and I was a second away from orgasm when he stopped. Richard’s cock was slowly pulled from my body and I whined as Richard bucked beneath me, James taking him in his mouth again, wetting his cock thoroughly, and I felt it against my ass now. There was a brief moment of resistance, and then I was filled. James made a noise of approval and tugged me towards him, burying Richard inside me. He was momentarily frozen, shocked, and only reacted when James slid fingers inside me and caressed him through the thin membrane that separated my cunt from my ass. He tossed his head, and then he thrust into me, hard, opening his mouth to the wet fingers James pressed to his lips. James smiled at me, letting Richard moan and suck his fingers and fuck me.  
  
He was still smiling when I felt his cock nudge against my pussy and then, finding the wet, open entrance, slide into me in one long, hard thrust. Richard and I cried out simultaneously. I pushed against James, trying in vain to keep him from going too deep, but he was not going to be denied. He caught my wrists and pinned them against the couch and, withdrawing just a fraction, used his body’s weight to sink into me as far as he could go. He paused there, letting me adjust to them, watching me as I fought him first, then rolled my hips, looking for an escape, and finally moaned as pleasure won over pain and I returned his smile.  
  
“Hold her, and be still,” he growled at Richard. My legs were pulled back until my knees were almost at my ears, and I’d never felt ecstasy so intense as when James began fucking us. His curved cock bumped over Richard’s with every slow thrust and soon the man beneath me was cursing and panting, trying very hard not to come and to keep from moving as he’d been instructed, and I could feel his cock throbbing inside me. James was nearly motionless himself, though he made sure he was as deep as he could be in my pussy as he moved in small circles instead.  
  
“Do you like this?” James asked me. “Being filled? It’s better than pain, isn’t it? Or do you want us to stop and hurt you instead?”  
  
“Please don’t stop! I want it! I have, since the first morning.”  
  
“First morning? Oh, I know,” he laughed, and I blushed. “When I caned your cock, Richard, remember?”  
  
“Oh, fuck. _Fuck!_ ” was Richard’s reply and he twitched inside of me. James laughed again and leaned down over us, the angle of his hips and groin grinding against my spread open pussy, crushing my clit, and he resumed his roll against us. His cock did hurt me, stretching and filling me, and Richard was beyond James’ control now. What room he had to move in he was using, fucking me with short, hard thrusts. Thinking of that first morning with them opened the door to other memories and I closed my eyes as I was assaulted, body and mind. I heard James laugh again as I responded to what he was doing, what he had done, and soon I was undulating between them, feeling raw and open and wanton. I loved them both so much, and it was lunacy that I had been so lucky to stumble into their lives, and to be with them like this was more pleasure than I could bear. My orgasm ripped through me, silently at first, stealing my sight again for a moment before a gasping breath forced air into my lungs, and it exploded into sobbing laughter, and stars erupted before my open eyes. I arched, somehow winning my hands from James, and flung them around his neck, pulling myself up, hanging from him, my hips bucking wildly, and Richard came inside me a moment before James. He fucked me hard as he came, pounding Richard and I both mercilessly until we were cannoning each other’s cries.  
  
Later—and I had no actual sense of time, it had slipped away the moment the blindfold had covered my eyes when I had been sent away with Oz—I awoke, curled haphazardly around Richard on the couch. I extracted myself from him and he did not wake. Unsurprising, considering what we had been through. I was thirsty, and starving. I wondered sleepily if I was allowed to eat now. Naked, I shuffled on unsteady but sober feet to the kitchen, stopping as my toes touched tile when James looked up at me from his seat at the little table. We looked at each other silently, the seconds dragging by. I was at a loss as to my place and boundaries with him. That I loved him was my foundation, and I waited there for him to show me the way. There was a bottle of Scotch on the table, and a little glass with drips of liquid still in it in front of him. His eyes wandered over my body, lingering here and there, a little frown slowly drawing his mouth down. He sniffed and straightened his shoulders after a moment.  
  
“Come here, princess. Are you hungry?” He stepped to the stove, putting the kettle on and going to the fridge, retrieving an apple pie, half devoured already. He knocked a pad off one of the chairs to the floor and toed it in front of him and I knelt there. He was silent as he slowly fed me the cold pie, smiling when I finally waved away a forkful, my cheeks full and my stomach straining at the amount, though not nearly half again was gone. He brought me tea when it was ready, with cream and honey in it so I wouldn’t have to wait for it to be cool enough to drink, and watched me sip at it with a strange gleam in his stormy blue eyes. He poured himself another splash of Scotch and when he spoke there was a tinge of awe in his voice.  
  
“How did you endure it?”  
  
I gulped my tea, startled, but my answer was half an automatic motion; I turned and looked over my shoulder in the direction I had left Richard sleeping on the couch. The other half was quiet words, said over my shoulder as I peered into the dark room, remembering. “I just wanted to get back here. To you. And, if you wouldn’t have me back, then I was going to do the best that I could for you, even if you never knew of it.”  
  
“I didn’t know it was going to be so bad,” he said. “He never would have forgiven me, you know, if I’d left you there.”  
  
“I wasn’t sure you cared anymore. Maybe you wanted it that way, for him to leave, to be rid of me.”  
  
“Do you forgive me?”  
  
“There isn’t anything to forgive.” When James shook his head, puzzled, I went on. “What are the rules here? I try so hard to be good, but you know, I’d never even had a regular relationship before this, a monogamous one where I felt loved and gave love in return. This is all I know, James, and I am going to make mistakes, and so are you, and look, if you forgive me, and still trust me, then I can do the same.”  
  
“Of course I do. I am so, so fucking sorry I put you through that, Tara. I am, and I understand what you’re saying. I do trust you, and... I want you to feel loved. I do cherish you. Fuck, I’m an idiot, but that’s what led to all this. I was so afraid, felt so crushed at the prospect of losing you... I did this to myself. I know, you are the one sitting there bruised and god, you were so crazed when you first woke up! But, I had to know if I could bear it, being without you. I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Tara,” he said again.  
  
If this was as close as he was ever going to get to telling me he loved me, I accepted it. I tentatively touched his knees, and when he just looked at me, I pulled myself close to him, putting my head against his leg. “I love you, James. I want to be with you. I’m sorry I hurt you and made you doubt me. I won’t do it again. I love you.”  
  
James stroked my hair, and sniffed again.  
  
“Can I have whisky?” Richard asked plaintively, standing in the hall, rubbing his eyes with his fist like a child.  
  
“You can suck it off my cock if you want it that bad,” James said. Richard paused, shrugged, and joined me on the floor.  
  
There was an awkwardness to the next several days that was sweetly endearing. I suppose not having been the one to do the damage, James was unsure of how I was feeling at first, but could barely conceal his desire for me to heal, impatient to hurt me himself. He kept me on bed rest, but that lasted just one day. I was bored; too, I did not want to be left alone with my thoughts and memories of the weekend. I wanted it never to have happened, but in lieu of that impossibility, I would make our home ours again. I had a renewed interest in keeping James happy and a new found understanding of him. His revelation of worry over losing me had prompted me to be more forward and communicative with him. If he knew without a doubt I was coming to him with my needs, hopefully it would translate into my needing _him_. If I kept nothing from him, he would see I trusted him again. His trepidation and worry about my well-being wore off eventually, especially after the day my purchase of iron shackles on a thick medieval chain arrived and I installed an innocent enough looking ring in the wall to thread them through, and was locked into them by the wrists, the key tossed across the room on his bed, when he returned home for the evening. I had discovered a thrift store nearby and realised I could buy used bed sheets for mere change and used them to cover the wall and the floor, to protect them from wax, wine, food, blood, whatever might happen.  
  
James was wary at first, approaching me slowly once he found me after checking the rest of the house when I had failed to answer his hello. I had gagged myself first, then set out a selection of implements on the sheet at my feet, before locking myself into the manacles. I had spent the next two hours worrying after my choices, and watching James inspect the array made me tremble. He lit a candle first, not having said a word to me once he located me. He picked up a cane next and looked from the flame to the stick and back again, then up at me.  
  
“Do you ever wonder about past lives?”  
  
I blinked. He claimed to have no interest in ‘hippy bullshit’ as he coined it.  
  
“I know. But I do, sometimes. Like now. I wonder if, and hope, it is a memory of another life that I want to light this cane on fire before I beat you with it, and then just set fire to the sheet and walk away, letting the whole place burn to the ground. It’s better, isn’t it, to imagine it’s just a leftover bit of karma or whatever, and that by not doing it again—because, god, it feels like I have!—I’m repairing the deed. Is that how it works?”  
  
I nodded agreeably.  
  
“There was a Chinese emperor who had a brass pipe he tied people to before he would build a fire inside of it and would watch them roast on it. Or the wicker man of the Isles? A brass bull for the Greeks. And oh, the witches. Tied up with their cats, can you imagine? Being scratched as they tried to get away. The smell of smoke and cat piss your last earthly experience. Close your eyes.”  
  
I jumped, the chains rattling, as hot wax was splashed across my breasts and belly.  
  
The manacles were where we discovered my hair was long enough to be wrapped around my throat and used as a ligature or a noose, and we soon made a habit of wrapping my wrists in cloth before locking them in the iron cuffs once they’d bled, the skin scraped raw and sliced from my struggling.  
  
Eventually, our lives were normal, for us, again. For a few weeks. Then James announced, abashedly, that he and Oz were going to France for a month to film a new show. I was horrified. To have him leave me for so many weeks, and to be away with that man, of all people!  
  
“Oh, hell, princess, I _know_. I’m the one that has to spend that much time with the ponce. It wasn’t my idea, truly. Richard and Jezza will take care of you.“ He gave me a long look. “Be good.” With a promise to call me often, and drunkenly at times, came the warning, and money to spare, he was gone. There was no going with him as I had with he and Jezza and Richard, though I wouldn’t have even if I was invited. The thought of Oz made my skin crawl, and made me rather vengeful. I regretted checking that kick at the club.  
  
The admonishment was completely unneeded, of course. I was not going to fuck up like that again. Richard and I had an unspoken agreement after our ordeal; James was our Master, and nothing any more was to be taken lightly or assumed. He came to visit me while James was away, bringing me his favourite pub dinners—cottage pie, burgers and chips, and black beer—and we went for a day trip into Wales to see the ocean. We took his motorcycle early in the morning, weaving on and off the mainstays, stopping for a good breakfast were the people spoke so fast and short I couldn’t understand them, and later had a little lunch in a field.  
  
“I had a drink with Jezza last night.”  
  
I raised my eyebrows, mouth full of cookies.  
  
“That weekend—” That was our term for the club, ‘That weekend’. “Jezza said James spent the whole time with him, very drunk. He was rather poor company, I understand; barely speaking, and Jezza said he just went out and bought a carton of fags ‘cause James kept smoking his. Drank until he was sick, and kept going. Wouldn’t talk about you at all, though Jezza kept probing where we were. Said he knew James was pissed off at him, too, but couldn’t be alone it seemed.”  
  
“Did you tell him what happened?”  
  
“I did. Some of it, at least. Basics,” he said, shielding his face with his hand to look up at the sky and hide a blush.  
  
“Does Jeremy know... I mean, what I did, with the shaving... He doesn’t think it’s his fault, does he?”  
  
“That’s a laugh. Jeremy, responsible for anything? No, no. Actually, he seemed contrite, and said to say hello to you, that he missed you. Wants to watch something with you? Planet Earth?”  
  
“Ooh! Sweet.”  
  
Richard smiled at my enthusiasm, but it faded quickly. He stretched out on the grass, watching the cars in the distance. When he spoke again, I could tell it was with difficulty. “We’re having dinner with Jezza and Francie in a couple of days. My wife... Mindy and I, that is. I know you and James wanted to keep everything private, but, you’re staying now, right? After all this time, everything that’s happened, you’re staying with him. You could, I mean, if you wanted to, be more public about it. If you wanted to? At least, we could all be together sometime? It’s not as if Mindy of all people would make a big deal about James having a girlfriend!”  
  
“I don’t think she would, either. And I am staying. But, Richard, are you sure you want Mindy to meet me?”  
  
He made a frustrated noise and rubbed his face. I saw his eyes still tracking the cars on the road. Finally, he looked at me. “I was thinking, oh, I don’t know... If you could be the one to sort of introduce her to...what we do? Somehow?” He searched my face as the words tumbled out. “She has always liked James, said he’s nice, polite, not the least intimidating. She wouldn’t expect it from him. With you, it wouldn’t seem cruel or weird, maybe, because you don’t look like...you’re not...”  
  
I didn’t mean to laugh at him, but he was so excited and confused he looked ready to cry. “I get it. We’re not like a leather chaps wearing couple with spiked collars and all that. We’d seem normal to her at first. Are you really thinking of telling her, finally?”  
  
“I guess I am. I had this vague idea in my head, of her meeting you and seeing that you’re smart and nice and...you and she actually have a lot of things in common.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
He ignored my question, glancing away quickly back to the road, and I didn’t push him. Perhaps I’d have the chance to find out for myself, anyway.  
  
“So how would we get around to it? It’s not the thing to just start chatting about over dinner, assuming James would even agree to it, of course.”  
  
“There’s that, but let’s say he will. You don’t have to do anything, maybe? I could just say that I know.”  
  
“Know what?” I said, playing along, helping him flesh out his tentative plan.  
  
“Just that you have an odd personal relationship. That you’re into being submissive, to start.”  
  
“What does that entail? How would you describe what we do?”  
  
He looked embarrassed again and closed his eyes. I shifted closer to him. “That James likes to spank you. A lot, or often, rather. That I’ve seen things in his house, or maybe, that I’ve seen you act a certain way with him at home. Doing what he says to, sitting on the floor instead of the couch. Bruises.”  
  
I touched his arm and he did not open his eyes.  
  
“Would you want your wife to act that way?” I asked softly.  
  
He frowned, but slowly shook his head. “No,” he replied, choosing his words carefully, “but I want to.”  
  
“That’s a good place to start, Richard.” I kissed his cheek. “I will do it, if you really want it. We’ll talk to James when he comes back.” He opened his eyes and gave me a little half smile. A scared, grateful smile.  
  
Richard didn’t mention it again in the following weeks, but I knew he was still thinking about it, planning it, perhaps waiting for something in his life to make room for it, for the right time, which would never come.


	11. Chapter 11

_"Get in_  
_And set the Sat-Nav to hell"_  
_Or would it be Purgatory?_  
_I gotta get this right_  
_I gotta get this right_

 

 

I heard the story from Jezza later. He'd had to walk behind James the entire length of the hospital, using his body and James' aversion to it to herd him along. Jeremy had felt himself prepared, but still faltered when he saw him.

Richard’s face was disfigured, lumped at the forehead and swelled around his left eye, the lid of which was deep scarlet and blue and as thick as a slice of bread. There was a tar-looking crust around his nostrils which turned out to be a mixture of sod and blood that leaked out constantly the first few days. Overall, Jezza related, it wasn't necessarily the visible damage, though that was disheartening for certain. It was the utter stillness of the man in the hospital bed. He was barely breathing, although doing so on his own after tearing the ventilator from his body, a violent action done while still comatose, and now every muscle of his usually intolerably active body was completely limp after that one spasm. His wife, used to it, went directly to his side, picking up his hand and speaking gently to him. She smiled reassuringly and beckoned them forward. Only Jeremy came.  
  
"I tried to be kind to him at first, you know. Then I figured he wouldn't know who the hell I was at that rate, and so I told him what I really thought. That he was a shit driver, too short, and probably talked too much when they were giving him instructions on how to go in a straight line. He actually smiled, but then he went all dead again and it was almost...as if he went farther away this time. Mindy started to sort of cry-laugh and Andy took her out for a moment to get us all some decent food."  
  
It was then he grabbed James by the wrist and drug him to Richard's bedside.  
  
"He was positively shaking. I don't know what he said, but he put his hand on Richard's chest and sort of mumbled something to him, and Richard's eyes just popped open! He said 'hey' to us both, and sat up in bed. I ran for Mindy. James was holding Richard's arm when we came back, the daft boy had insisted on getting up and James was keeping him from falling over. As soon as Mindy had him, James fled. I found him later, and don't tell him I told you, of course, but he was crying, just coming apart. Quite unmanly, but I suppose not out of character."  
  
I rolled my eyes at him, and he smirked.  
  
"I told him to cup himself and made him go back in the room. Richard called him 'cockface', which I thought just splendid, and passed back out."  
  
"Cockface?"  
  
"Eh, they weren't so fond of each other when James first came on board. Richard's, you know, a doer, and James wanted to stop and think about every fucking thing, drove Richard bonkers. Called James 'cockface' to everyone else. James turned the tables on that, didn't he?"  
  
"Jesus, Jeremy."  
  
"But you know what, I wonder if that doesn't mean Richard remembers very little about their...more recent relationship? His mind is pretty far back to pull that nickname out."  
  
"Oh!"  
  
"Well, let's hope it is, for now. It would wreck Mindy to have this sprung on her while he's still toeing the line, I imagine. Dear girl, don't look so troubled. There isn't anything anyone can do right now. Worrying won't help you at all. He might not even live, still. He might not remember any of us tomorrow. He might not ever make another new memory. Nobody knows. But, James needs you, little one, and you must be kind to him. Do you know he was supposed to drive that jet car?"  
  
"What!"  
  
"Well, obviously. Captain Slow in the car with the fastest land speed record in Britain. Proper. But he quickly came up with another obligation. What were you two doing when you found out, anyway?"  
  
"James was working on Richard's motorcycle in the garage. I was making tea. It came over the radio." I shivered, remembering the terrible cry James had uttered and the clatter of tools knocked to the floor. Sure he'd hurt himself badly, I was halfway to the garage when he collided with me.

"I have to go," he'd said, and pointed by way of explanation. "The radio—the news said—Richard's crashed the Vampire! I have to go."

But I had held him back, had made him wait until there was official news from his wife, or the crew, as to how bad it had been. We watched the television and when it announced he was in critical condition with brain injuries, and showed the destroyed cockpit of the jet car, James held me as I cried, but he didn't speak, only stroked my hair and waited. When Jeremy phoned him later that evening saying he was on his way to Richard and was James coming, he had touched my cheek with cold fingers, and vanished.  
  
"Very pressing plans, indeed. Probably an incredibly lucky turn of events, anyway. Being a midget might have saved Richard's life."

He gave me a long hug, kissed the top of my head, and left. I sat on the porch and let my mind wander over tangents; the possibility it could have been James in the wreck, and he might not have made it out of the car alive as Richard had, and what would've happen to me in that case. I was lightheaded in moments, unable to lose the image of James' body somewhere in the tangled mess of machine I had seen on the news, and unwilling to acknowledge I was grateful it hadn't been. I jumped up, hurrying inside.

He was sitting on the couch, his face in his hands, hair tumbled and knotted from his habit of running his hands through it when nervous. I spoke his name gently, and when he lifted his head I was sure there was more silver at his temples than had been there yesterday. His face was drawn, and the hand he held out to me was trembling. There was odd specks on the cuff of his sleeve, and I shuddered as I took his hand and sat down next to him. He looked at me as if he were in pain.  
  
"You don't have to say anything," I said, and smiled at him. "Jeremy told me Richard's alright for now, and that you brought him around. That's wonderful! Have you eaten anything?"

He shook his head mutely, but there was no way I was getting out of his grasp. My fingers hurt with the pressure.

"You should really eat and rest." I caressed his cheek with my free hand, a little unnerved at the desperate way he was staring at me. Tucking glittering strands of brown and white hair behind his ear, I leaned forward and kissed him impulsively. He didn't shy away, so I kissed him again. I had never felt so much compassion for someone, and never loved him more than in that moment, and it felt perfect when his hand wrapped slowly, powerfully, around my throat. He squeezed, pushing me backwards, mouth clamped over mine, breathing so hard he was pulling air into his mouth through my nose. His hands clawed at my clothes, ripping away what would come easily, struggling and growling at what would not. He parted his jeans and was inside of me in one hard movement. He pushed my legs up until my knees were framing my face and I stared up at him, breathless and totally in his control, so in love with him it was a piercing pain in my chest.  
  
"My love," I gasped out, and laughed into his palm as he clamped it over my mouth. He came that way, pinning me down, my body bent to his will, his grey-sky eyes brimming with tears.  
  
"Stay," he commanded gently, and heaved himself up. A handful of rope was what he returned with, and quickly had me in a loose hogtie, face down now. I watched him as he wandered, aimlessly shuffling around the house, making several moves towards the garage. He petted Fusker absently, letting the cat chew on his fingers as he stared at the floor. My eyes were slowly closing, tired of straining to follow him and squinting as he stood in front of the window, but I snapped back to awareness when I heard a shuddering sigh tear through him. Fusker was curled up now, James toying with the tip of one black, furry ear, staring at me again with that pained expression.  
  
_"Tara."_  
  
The word sounded as if he was saying it for the first time, as if it was the answer to everything, that he'd brought peace to the world with the pronunciation of my name. He left the cat and came to the couch, kneeling on the floor near my head, but not touching me. His face contorted suddenly, screwing up in agony. His voice sounded angry, but I knew he wasn't.

"Goddamn him! How could he fucking be so stupid? How can we all be such idiots? He can't fucking help it, I know he can't, but what the fuck is wrong with the rest of us to care so much about someone who wants to kill himself all the time? What a fucking cock-up! I should never have given in to him. I knew better." James balled up his fists and brought them to his forehead. I kept still, wondering how much was bottled up. When his hands fell away, I tried not to react to his tears.

"But I can't even imagine my life now without him. There's nothing I'd rather have done than be with him. I'd not know myself without him. I wouldn't have you. You and he are everything to me." He collapsed, face buried in his arms, his sobs shaking the couch.  
  
"James? James, honey, please let me go? Please? This hurts," I lied, desperate to comfort him. "Just let me go, I'll bring you tea. Anything you want, please?" I tried to wiggle onto my side. I pulled and tugged, but his knots were as secure as ever and I fought panic. I had never wanted to be free so badly! "James! Untie me! Hey, let me go? Please? I—I'm scared, James," I said, my own tears forming. His silently shaking form was so disturbing and I was afraid for us both. Wildly, I thought of his handgun, and wondered for the first time what he was capable of, how far he would go if our lives were destroyed by this, by Richard never remembering, by him revealing it to his wife, or by dying.  
  
I thrashed, whining desperately, my pleas reaching a scream before James finally reacted. He flicked out his knife, grabbing me roughly, and I squealed again, but he merely cut the ropes holding my wrists, then tossed the knife away and returned to his huddled position. I struggled up and managed after a few minutes to free myself completely. On my knees next to him, I hugged him to me, pulling until he was leaning against me. After a long while, his body stilled and his arms slid around me loosely.  
  
"Come on, come with me." I got him up and led him to his bedroom. He allowed me to strip his clothing away and be pushed into bed, but pulled me firmly down next to him.  
  
"My princess," he murmured. "I'm sorry. Sorry Richard is hurt, sorry I am not strong for you. Sorry to ever have hurt you when it wasn't what you wanted. I am not good, I told you that at the beginning. I am weak, cruel, and selfish, Tara. But I need you!”  
  
He hugged me to him, and we slept in his bed together for the first time since the night I had come here. He asked me to again the next night, after Mindy had texted a brief but positive message to James, and after a few more days he didn't have to ask.  
  
In the weeks that followed, I only used my little room to read in because it was easier to keep warm. Fusker inexplicably began to join me, jumping on the foot of the bed and purring loudly, drooling occasionally and looking pleased with himself. I enjoyed the company as James was often gone, off with Jeremy to see Richard, or to finish up the segments they'd been filming for the show before they decided to put the whole thing on hiatus to see if Richard was going to recover enough to return.

The news improved steadily for the first week or so, then leveled off, much to everyone's trepidation. Richard was able to walk, talk, and recognised his children, but generally wore everyone else into the dust talking them in circles. He had no idea where he was, or why, though it was often and patiently repeated to him, and at one point had argued with Mindy she couldn't possibly be his wife, because she was too pretty and not French, and I tried not to look guilty when I heard that. He was in danger of seizures, of sudden loss of coordination, and couldn't keep memories of anything that was happening to him. If someone conversed with him, minutes later he'd forget what the topic was and even that they'd spoken at all. James was heartbroken by this merry-go-round of lost moments with his best friend and bailed out after a couple more visits, though he sent Richard gifts—a green Lego tractor, which Mindy thanked him profusely for later—and motorcycle magazines, carefully picked through to avoid any which had the model Richard had been tied to a month before.

Also, James was just avoiding the house. Or me, I wasn't certain, but I didn't hold it against him. I kept myself busy, cleaned things that desperately needed it, moved any stray bits of bondage gear back into its place in his closet, and made sure he had pies and curry available when he came home. I knew he was grateful for my consideration of his needs, and I knew he was almost out of his mind with worry and fear and unable to pull himself together to thank me properly. He held me, though, as the nights became colder and rainier, and made love with me, violently and passionately, until we were both drained and shaking and there was no energy left for words. I was so happy to be with him, to be able to care for him, and I knew his absences and wordlessness were not out of cruelty but merely because he had no other way to cope. He didn't want to break down in front of me again, could not be in a house so full of memories of Richard, and, for someone who could talk a blue-streak about so many things, was at a total loss as how to communicate his fear.  
  
Word came Richard had left the rehabilitation centre he'd been smuggled into, and had disappeared with his family. Jezza related to us Richard had needed privacy to adjust to leaving the routine of hospital environment and avoiding the press was a must. The head injury had also caused paranoia along with short term memory loss, and there was the danger of personality changes, that he could suffer from anger, depression, aggression, though there was good signs he was recovering without any permanent damage to his psyche. But he needed seclusion to reintegrate himself into the non-routine of daily life. This was the worst for all of us, I think, not knowing where he was, not getting updates from Mindy any longer, not getting first hand accounts from Jeremy who'd been with him as much as possible, relieving Mindy. Even Jezza was fretting. He came to see me several days after Richard's planned disappearance.  
  
"He was being as much an ass as ever, is the good news," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Thanks, darling." He took tea and cookies—I refused to call them crisps—from me gently. I kept a large mug around just for him.

"Arguing and laughing and lying, batting his eyes at the nurses. Boys and girls, mind you. But he was totally schizo, asking where the party was one second, sure there was someone trying to get into his room the next. Gah, I can't imagine what poor Mindy is going through. She was skin and bones, all six stones of her, last I saw them. They don't know if he'll be able to drive again, can you believe it? Spatial orientation all buggered up, can't back up or use mirrors, for now. His doc told me, though, that he's so feisty there's a better than usual chance he'll recover fully. Apparently, being a stubborn fuckhead is good for healing the brain."  
  
"What will happen to your show if he can't come back?"  
  
"I don't know, sweetie. I imagine it could go on, we could find someone to take over his spot. But, James... I don't know if he could do it. Probably start to bawl every time someone said 'Porsche'." He snickered, but I knew he wasn't joking.  
  
A week or so later, Richard reappeared, back at his castle, more or less intact it seemed. Mindy had ferreted him away to Scotland, where he'd had some bad moments, but mostly good ones, and had even driven her Land Rover successfully, although only in a forward motion, and had returned to jogging, which absolutely thrilled me. He was _running_. A month ago, he was projected to be a vegetable, at best. Tentative plans were made for working him back into the show.

The first meeting of the cast and crew had James looking green, I had to admit. I couldn't recall what I'd done the day while he was away seeing Richard, recovered for all intensive purposes, for the first time, but I would never forget the stunned look on his face when he came home. Richard still didn't seem to remember. He knew James, was friendly, honestly glad to see him, got confused a few times as to what to do and what order to do it in, and tugged on James' coat for a reminder, but other than that, he appeared completely oblivious to having been lovers with the man he was questioning. I consoled James, though he tried to hide his hurt and confusion, as best I could, which consisted of getting drunk with him often, sucking his cock, and lying over his knees as he spanked me until my cheeks were cherry red. It took the edge off. Jeremy told me Richard did seem to latch onto James for whatever reason, following him around and asking him questions, sometimes repeatedly, but contrary to the James everyone thought they knew, he was infinitely patient with Richard.


	12. Chapter 12

_You've been down before..._  
_Boy, not like this_  
_I'm in quicksand, I am sinking fast_

 

 

It was early November, and James had turned the heat on before he'd left in the morning, and by late afternoon, after cleaning and laundry and brushing Fusker, I rested on my bed, reading, unaware of when I fell asleep in the warm house, and awoke to James on his knees at my bedside, gazing at me with sad eyes. His hand over mine was what stirred me. He rested his head against his arm, gentle breath on the back of my fingers.  
  
"Sweet girl," he said quietly as I focused drowsy eyes on him and smiled. "Richard asked me about you today."  
  
My heart hammered in my chest and I opened and closed my mouth several times before I realised I had nothing to say.

James went on. "I was almost wishing he'd never remember." I could hear the pain in his voice as he said the words. "He was late this morning to work, no one could reach him, and thankfully I was the only one in when he finally showed up. He looked at me like he'd lost his mind, Tara." He tickled my fingers softly as he spoke. "'How is she?' he said, and I knew he meant you, and that he had remembered."  
  
Wordlessly, I pulled James into my bed and curled around him. The sun disappeared and the street lamps flickered to life outside the window before he finally spoke again, to tell me Richard was waiting for us to meet him.  
  
The hangar was a dark maw Richard stepped out of. I wanted to scream at James to stop the car as we pulled past him to park; to be so close now and move even inches away was torture. Richard looked small and wild-eyed standing beside his beloved Porsche. He wrapped his arms around himself as we stopped, shivering. James stared straight ahead when I looked to him, but I knew he'd not leave me alone for long.  
  
I walked slowly away from the car towards Richard, who wouldn't meet my gaze, either, and I felt as if the world was losing shape and they were both sliding away from me, that the ground would dissolve in the distance left between us and I was about to drop into oblivion. I reached him, but did not speak or touch him, so profound was his agitation. I waited and after a few seconds he swayed a little from side to side and raised his head.  
  
"You and James... I remembered today," he said, voice shaking and low. His eyes were glassy and the left was blood red at the outside corner. The brown iris looked larger than the right, as if a thumb had smudged the colour outside the lines and it had bled as a result, the only evidence this was not quite the same man I had met in the States.

"I thought I was dreaming. I was _awake_ ," he hissed at me. "I re-lived it all with my eyes open. Lying next to my wife!" He was nearly vibrating and I desperately wanted to comfort him but he held me in place with his glare. "I don't know why I...do...that. I didn't know before and I don't know now. I love you, Tara," he said fiercely. "Why do I do this? Have I ever known? Fuck!" He groaned and shut his eyes, swaying again.  
  
This time I put my arms around him, gathering him against me gently.

"I'm so sorry I didn't see you when you were hurt, Richard," I whispered. He stood absolutely still in my arms, hands clenched, but he made no move to push me away. "You didn't remember. We didn't know what to do. I just wanted you to be well, even if you forgot me forever. James feels the same, and he loves you. I love you! I've missed you so much."

He said nothing and the earth felt soft under my feet again. I slowly released him, sliding my fingers down his arms as I moved away reluctantly. Just as our fingers touched and separated for an instant, Richard snatched at my wrists and jerked me into his arms, crushing me against his body. He was so lithe and strong he knocked my breath from my chest and I pushed back reflexively. He nearly lifted me off of my feet as he moved backwards into the black hangar. I stumbled with him, captive, and heard James close the car door finally and start walking towards us. Richard hauled me into the shadows before James reached us and I had a moment of panic when I couldn't see Richard's expression, wondering how mad he might actually be. But once out of the light, Richard's grip loosened and he backed away. I heard him sob and then James was next to me.  
  
"Richard," he said quietly but firmly, following him into the darkness for several paces, going no farther in case he lost sight of me. "Please let us help you. Tell me what you want me to do."

He was barely visible and Richard was only his rapid, shallow breathing somewhere in front of us. He let out a short, broken laugh.  
  
"Tell you what to do, eh? You're the one who makes the rules. What do _I_ do now, Captain?" The words came tumbling at us, each one more urgent than the next. "What do I tell my wife? What lies have I told her to see you? How do I hide this from her, or from anyone? How can I love you both so much and live as if I don't? I've done nothing but lie and use my friends."

He made a helpless noise again, and James took a step forward, disappearing from my sight for a moment before emerging from the gloom with his hands on Richard's shoulders, half holding him up, half dragging him back towards the entrance. Richard fought him vaguely but he appeared exhausted, his legs weak and his head hanging. He stumbled heavily and I went to his side and put an arm around him. At my touch his knees buckled and I slid with him to the ground, leaning against James' legs. He buried his head into my shoulder. I felt his hands move from my back to James, caressing us both with a ghost's touch as his tears slid down my neck.  
  
"How can I stop this?" he whispered and a spasm shook him. I didn't know if he meant his returning memories or his desire or his love. He felt like a wild animal in my arms, a wounded and dangerous one. James touched his head softly.  
  
"Come to my house, Richard. We will help you, I promise." He didn't reply, but his body writhed against mine as if he was trying to curl up on the ground. I looked desperately at James. He reached down and pulled Richard to his feet, who allowed himself to stand, clutching my hands in his.  
  
"Tara will take you. Go with her."

Richard drew in a loud, shuddering breath and flung his head back, peering up into the darkness for a long time.  
  
"If I look up long enough, I won't remember where I am. I'll forget you both are here." He looked at James finally. "Isn't that fucking awful?"  
  
"Oh, cock," James said miserably and pulled Richard to him, hugging him tightly.

Eyes squeezed shut, Richard mumbled, "Never done that before. I _know_ I'd remember."  
  
We herded him slowly back into the lights. James held him by the elbow while I opened the Porsche's passenger door so James could deposit him into it. The key was in the ignition and the calming purr of its engine brought a tranquil look to Richard's face for a moment. He looked as if he'd been crying for hours. The dark circles under his eyes made him look so thin, and for the first time I couldn't fight off the impression of him unconscious in a hospital bed, helpless and hurt. My heart was racing, not yet believing I was really with him, that he was breathing and whole and I was surrounded by his smell and things he loved, and if he was not sane, he was, for now, safe with me. He slouched down in his seat, eyes almost closed. It was subtle at first, but I noticed as cars passed he was flinching, moving his head from side to side, and he was struggling to not watch the road in front of us.  
  
"What it is?" I asked, gently touching his chill hand. His fingernails were longer than I'd ever seen them. He sighed heavily.  
  
"Lights. Lamps, headlights. My eye can't dilate properly."  
  
"Does it hurt?"  
  
"Yes, but not like the headaches do. Did. They stopped yesterday. Just stopped. I was sick from them. Raving... The medication didn't always work. I thought they would never go away. Where the nerves were snapped, here," slender fingers touched the back of his head, "like a spike. Even when I was sleeping," he trailed off, hand still hovering by his head. His voice shook when he spoke again.

"The headaches kept this at bay, I think. All I wanted was for the pain to stop, and as soon as it did, I wanted it back. Seeing James yesterday... Fuck." He put his hands over his eyes. "Headaches were better than the confusion and guilt. I felt like I hated him at first and I didn't know why."

He covered his mouth, eyes closed, looking pale and nauseated. I drove in silence, carefully, so as not to jar him. He finally lowered his hands to his lap, fidgeting, and I remembered the first time I had been in a car with him and I thought again of how easy it would have been to never have met him, how one small decision could have kept me from being with him, and James.  
  
"Do you hate him?"  
  
"Oh, christ," he groaned, "how could I?" All of a sudden he writhed in his seat, rubbing his palms along his thighs. "It won't stop!" he cried.

I gripped the wheel, trying not to act startled.

"Everything he's done—oh, and you! When I saw it, when I felt—" He shook his head again, bringing his hands back up and for a moment I thought he was going to beat at his temples.  
  
"Richard, please, just calm down?"  
  
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shuddered. "Have you missed me?" he asked slowly.  
  
"Very much," I promised.  
  
"I didn't feel anything," he said bitterly. "I couldn't miss you, or worry, or comfort James." He was rubbing his forehead lightly, nails dragging on his skin. "I'm ashamed I wanted the headaches back rather than need him. After everything he's risked for me, everything he's given up. He's never denied me."  
  
"I know."  
  
"What have I done?" I heard him whisper.

At a light, I reached over and swept his hands away from his face, afraid he was going to draw blood with the scratching. He squinted at me, but let me guide his hands to his lap. When he put his hand over mine and pressed it into his crotch, I felt his hard cock through his jeans, filling my palm.  
  
"I can't help it. They told me head injuries cause erections—but this is because of you. Because of what I remembered. It was so clear, so real. I could taste you and feel you."  
  
I had to drag my hand away from him to shift and he reluctantly let go. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, relaxing finally. But it did not last more than a few minutes. He sat up in his seat and looked around, peering out into the darkness.  
  
"We're almost to James'," I supplied gently. He said nothing and gazed out the window, wincing as each streetlight flared over us. He closed his eyes after a while and I thought he might have fallen asleep, but after a few miles he spoke again.  
  
"I thought it would never end, that I would always have that pain, that I would spend the rest of my life in a half-drugged fugue. In agony." He spoke without facing me, his breath misting the cold glass. "It was nothing compared to this. Nothing at all compared to knowing the damage I've done. And this will never go away. If nearly taking my head off didn't fix it, nothing ever will."  
  
"Do you think I need to be 'fixed'?"  
  
"Of course not. I'm sorry, I realise how that sounds. I've just gone so long thinking I could change, that I would if 'this' amount of time passed, or when I felt a certain thing. I've been so fucking selfish. I'm sorry." There were tears on his cheek, fiery trails in the orange light. I tried to console him, but he cut me off.  
  
"No, I am sorry, because I don't know how else to be. This is all I am." His tone changed then, becoming low and desperate. "If what I saw this morning was real...the way I felt—James won't deny me now, especially not now, and through him I can be with you, and the pain will still be there and it will go on and on and I know I can survive it now and that it will be with me my whole life, but you won't leave me alone with it, will you?" He made a noise, something like a laugh, and I was the one feeling sick, afraid of the reality he was creating. I said nothing and he was mercifully silent the remainder of the way.  
  
I had assumed James would follow us home, but he was nowhere to be seen in the rear view mirror and there was no headlights coming our way as I closed the garage door behind the Porsche. Richard followed me like a puppy, but there was nothing innocent in his eyes. Nervous, and hoping to calm him, I led him into the kitchen and began heating water, acutely aware of his nearness to me.  
  
He looked at the chamomile tea I placed in front of him. I kept the room dark for him but the cup seemed to capture what light was available. It glowed liquid gold and his eyes were the same. He put his hands around the cup, which I knew was much too hot. After a few seconds his breath hissed in through his teeth, but he kept his hands where they were. Gilded eyes lifted to mine.

"This is who you are to me. Pain, heat, healing... Your body is scented like these flowers, do you know that, Tara?"  
  
I shook my head mutely.  
  
"You tried to get me to drink this before, I remember now, in the summer. With you in that field, the warm sun.... And now I have to drink it, isn't that strange? Every time I've smelled it I thought of you, only I didn't know who you were. I tasted this and remembered you. I couldn't see you, but I felt you, what I experienced around you. It's all sensations for me now."

He brought the tea to his mouth but didn't drink, letting the hot liquid brush his lips, flexing his fingers around the steaming cup.

"I thought I was alone. This always seemed like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from before you. James is so weird, it was easy to think there was something wrong with the both of us. But you brought me hope." He made a noise in the back of his throat, a little groan, and his eyes closed.

"What are these things?" he asked, but I didn't feel like he was talking to me. He let the cup drop heavily on the table and then his hot hands were on my face. "I can't fucking stand it! This past I cannot connect to now, it's too much, too many memories! Please," he whispered urgently, his hands going into my hair and gripping painfully, "I need to feel something now." His teeth nipped at my lips and he forced me into James' room. I let him push me to the bed, but then I put my hands on his wrists and pulled steadily until he released me.  
  
"Richard, what do you want me to do? Do you need to be hurt?" I shook him as he bowed his head and he looked up at me, eyes reflecting the night's silver light now. "Oh, you're so hurt already," I said, and instantly regretted it. Anguish washed over his face, and betrayal. He wrenched out of my hands and was on his knees before I could catch him. He hunched over and brought his arms around his head.  
  
"I can't ask for this, it's not right. I can't stop it, can't fucking cant," The words were growls torn from his throat, full of self-hatred. "Should've killed me," he breathed. He curled tighter and let out a low, wailing cry. It covered up the sound of the front door opening and closing, and the shadow falling over Richard scared me for a moment, then I was instantly glad James had arrived.

He would tell me later Richard had been this distraught before, in the beginning. Overwhelmed with guilt, he would do anything to get James to hurt him, to pull him out of an emotional hole he could never seem to rise from on his own. He felt guilty for asking, for wanting the attention, and for not being able to deny the need ultimately. But if Richard had had a hard time coping with his feelings before, now he was at their mercy completely. Every emotion was unfamiliar, he no longer had a lifetime of experiences and memories to connect his feelings to. He had muscle memory, and a deep-seated need, and a visual memory, but what he was feeling in his soul was searing, unfamiliar. James had tried to explain it to me before, and it had made me weep that I could barely fathom the separation of self from my feelings. It scared me to even imagine. Richard's fear and anxiety was visible, his panic something I could taste in the air. He rocked on his knees, rubbing his face repeatedly.

Finally, he glanced up at James. "And you, you've been protecting me. I don't understand!" he shouted at us.  
  
James jumped a little, but reached his hand out. "I did protect you, Richard," he said gently. "I helped you because you trusted me."  
  
Richard ignored the proffered hand. "You've saved my life," he said slowly, as if to himself, a wild look coming to his face. "You've saved my life," he spoke again. "I have been at my worst and most selfish with you and you have only ever tried to keep me safe. The promises I made to you weren't sacrifices you were forcing me to make because you knew my secret. You did this with me so you could keep me from hurting myself. From hating myself. I don't even know who I am! I feel so numb. My wife will hate me, and I can't believe you don't." He covered his eyes. "I want to die. I've poisoned us all, and I've been punished for it."  
  
James stood impassively as Richard spoke, but at the last words a sad look came to his face, and then an angry one.

Richard felt James come for him and cringed at the rush of energy. James was on him with one stride, grabbing him by the wrists as I had done, jerking his hands away from his pale face. He leaned down, his face inches from Richard's.  
  
"Don't be stupid! You know bloody well why you crashed. And I don't hate you, though I'm starting to become very cross. This has to stop. Jeremy is bringing Mindy here, and there will be no more hiding."  
  
"No!"

He fought James' hold on him, but I knew how strong James' hands were. He kept Richard on his knees easily, and laughed in his face, though there was an edge to it I'd never heard before.  
  
"What would you do? Run from us all?"  
  
Richard ducked his head. James held him for a long moment at arms length, studying him. Then in one smooth movement, he pulled Richard to his feet and spun him around before forcing him over the side of the bed, face down. He did not resist, not even when James held him down by the back of the neck with one hand and stripped off his belt. He had Richard's hands behind his back and the belt wound tightly around his wrists in moments, then used Richard's belt to secure his feet together at the ankles. James stood behind him and looked at me as he spoke to him. Now I could see the fear in his eyes I had heard in his laughter.  
  
"This could ruin all of us. Mindy could very well have a fit and divorce you and create a scandal and you and I will be crazy perverts in the Daily Mail side column. But I don't believe she will do that. I don't think you realise how much she loves you. How much...you are loved."

James didn't break eye contact with me, but he flinched when the door to the house banged shut and Jeremy called his name loudly. He knew these were the dying moments of a painful secret, but one that was dear and so personal it was killing him to see it to the grave.  
  
"Tara, keep Jeremy out of here."  
  
I backed out of the room, my heart in my throat.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sweet saliva_  
_With your E's_  
_And your ease_  
_And I do one more_  
_I know we're dying_  
_And there's no sign of a parachute_

 

 

Jeremy was standing in the living room with a lovely, petite, fiery-haired woman. She was dressed in a short grey skirt and a silky cream blouse, but her shoes were missing. She barely came up to Jeremy's chest, and icy blue eyes looked me up and down as I approached. Her long hair tumbled about her, partially obscuring her face, but those eyes were easy to see set in such white skin. She shrank back against Jeremy as I approached, so I stopped a meter away.  
  
"Mindy, this is Tara," Jeremy held his hand out to me but I stayed where I was.  
  
"He mentioned you," Mindy said, huddling at Jeremy's side, "the day before his accident. He said you were James' girlfriend." She was speaking slowly, as if each word was an effort. "I had forgotten, until this morning. He woke up screaming for you. Saying James was hurting you. That it should be him instead." She paused and took a slow inhalation through her mouth. "He didn't even see me, he called me by your name. He—" Her voice trembled to a halt and she glared at me through her hair. I lowered my gaze. She clutched at Jeremy and looked up at him. "Where is he?"  
  
"With James, in there." I pointed. I understood James had excluded only Jeremy for a reason. She moved away from him hesitantly, but gathered courage with every step and she moved past me, sapphire eyes shining, watching me as if I might pounce on her. Then she was gone, into James' room, and the door slowly shut behind her. I stared at it and shivered.  
  
Jeremy stepped forward and embraced me. "Oh, darling, she'll be fine, I promise. Especially with what I've given her."  
  
I frowned at him. "What?"  
  
"Ecstasy," he said and put a finger to his lips. "Only half, though. Here, have the other."

His hand was at my face, fingers touching my cheek and thumb to my lips. Pressed into the pad of his thumb was a broken pill. I barely saw it before reflexively opening my mouth and he scraped it off on my bottom teeth. I bit down and it crumbled and I used Richard's tea to wash it down. Jeremy produced another tiny pill and he snapped it in half skillfully with his nail and took them both, motioning for the cold tea.  
  
"Where did you get Ecstasy?"  
  
He shrugged and gestured vaguely. "Some Frenchman. It's very good. Don't tell James, let me worry about that. I think you girls could use some relaxation, is all. Richard was a maniac, scared her half to death. You know, she had it figured out before she called me. She's such a bright thing. You and she will get along great."  
  
I didn't share his optimism right then. I could still feel her accusatory eyes on me. Jeremy was looking at the closed door and I covertly moved him towards the kitchen on the other side of the house. He promptly rummaged through the cooler and cupboards, finding and devouring sweet things he came across. He brought me water and took a few swallows off a bottle of whiskey James had stashed. I watched him wander around and felt like I was in a hospital waiting room, dreading the word on condition. I tried to push that out of my head, feeling guilty again I had not been able to see Richard after his accident, that everyone around me had had to take up that burden, had to face the reality of his injuries. I felt warm and heavy through my core and if I held very still, there was a distinct sense of falling, but it was gentle, like letting a palmful of sand slip through my fingers. I took a slow breath, drinking in the sweet air.  
  
Jeremy ceased pacing around and was leaning against the counter, watching the drug take hold of me. Mindy had appeared utterly trusting and protected under his arm. I pictured him with his children, with Richard's daughters, because I knew then their families were much closer than Richard had let on. I knew how much awareness and care Jeremy used so his giant frame never knocked down a little one, how gentle his touch could be holding a child in his huge hands. His voice sounded far away when he spoke to me and my throat felt warm and thick as I lifted my head.  
  
"Kicks in fast when you chew it up, does it?" he asked, grinning.

My face felt flushed, but there was a coil of giddy pleasure building in my chest.  
  
"Did James ask you to come here, with her?" I was a little surprised at my voice, the silky way it passed my lips.  
  
"Yeah, called me. She called me before that, when Hammond didn't come home. I picked her up and we've been driving around. She couldn't stand being alone, poor thing. James sounded a bit sick, is he alright?"  
  
"He needs your help," I said slowly, but sure of it. Jeremy looked intrigued.  
  
"I didn't tell her anything," he said. "She didn't ask. She said she knew, Richard told her everything, though she said it wasn't like he meant to."  
  
"Richard—" I said and my heart jumped. I swallowed and started again. "He told me he had a waking dream, some kind of hallucination. You heard her—" At thought of her, golden fire licked at my cheeks, though I felt no real heat. I took a shuddering breath. "He called her by my name."  
  
"I can imagine some of the things he might have said," Jeremy said, staring me down.

I blushed again and the heat stayed with me this time, creeping along my limbs and the coil drilled down through my insides and I shifted my hips, spreading my legs. My clothes felt odd and tight. Jeremy tilted his head, and I gave into the drug, and what was happening, and this side of myself that was causing so much trouble and had brought so much pleasure. I had my bra off in a few quick movements and my shoes followed.  
  
"Mindy couldn't keep her clothes on, either," he said smugly. "I might keep her leggings as a prize."  
  
"What if your wife finds them?"  
  
"I'll stuff them in her mouth and make her take it in the ass. Well, I would! She'd think no more about it. Besides, I already told her. Oh, yes, darling. We had a grand time discussing you." He walked over to me and I felt weak and aroused at his sudden nearness. I wondered if I could coherently be near Richard or James like this...  
  
"She wants to meet you, actually." I saw his hand coming towards me, and smelled roses and smoke as he stroked my hair off my neck. "I almost wish Richard had come to me instead of James, sometimes. My wife would love to make him wear panties and squeal like a girl, and Mindy would already know."

He clenched his hand in my hair and the sensation made my toes curl.

"But then we wouldn't have you, would we?" He brought both hands to my face, carefully, studying me. His thumbs caressed my lips and I whimpered, my senses marching steadily towards chaos.

"James is unbelievably lucky," he said, smiling. "And I suppose he deserves to be happy as much as anyone, and you do seem to be rather fond of him."  
  
"I love him," I whispered.  
  
"I know you do, darling. You girls are so much stronger than the men you're with, you really have no idea," he laughed and backed away from me. It seemed as if his hands were still on me, and I felt compelled to follow him, to keep the contact. His eyes widened and he put his hands up.

"James is probably terrified of Mindy right now. I hope getting you two high wasn't a bad idea."

He caught my arms and stopped me from pushing him back into the counter.

"Hold on, I didn't come here to have James try to unman me for fondling his girlfriend in his kitchen," he teased and walked me backwards, pressing me down into the chair.

I was numb everywhere but where he was touching me, where I was made of velvet somehow and his fingers were smooth glass and it was the most amazing mix of textures and sensations. I stared at his hand on my skin, in awe, and he took his fingertips up and down my arms lightly. I squirmed in my seat and he laughed again, lightly scratching his long nails from the inside of my elbow down to my wrist and back and until I was almost panting, intensely sexual thoughts and feelings heating my spine and sparking a fire in my chest. My face felt wet and I had to touch my cheeks to see if I was crying from sheer pleasure. When Jeremy mimicked the touch to my face I moaned, and that's how James found us; Jeremy perched on the edge of the table, petting my cheeks just to elicit little cries of pleasure from me, my face turned up to his, nearly shaking from arousal and intense joy.  
  
"Jezza, what have you done to her?" James frowned.  
  
"Oh, nothing I'd really like to," Jeremy grinned at him.  
  
"Well, stop that. And come here."  
  
Jeremy pinched my cheek and was gone, following James into the garage. A cold gust of air repelled me out of my chair and the kitchen before I thought about what might be waiting in the other room.

There were no lights on and I didn't see them at first; I was only a few feet away before I realised Richard was bound in front of me to a low backed chair, naked except for his ball gag and blindfold and chest harness, his legs tied wide open and arms behind him, lashed by the wrists to the back of the chair. The harness was secured to the chair as well, to minimize his arching and bucking. I could see the muscles in his face jumping as he bit down on the ball in his mouth and he was vibrating like he had at the hangar. I reached for him, unable to help myself after so many days deprived of my lover and friend; I wanted to sooth him and let him know he was not alone. There was a strange hiss behind me and I drew my hand back from Richard before I made contact and turned to see his wife curled on the couch, her lips pulled back from her teeth, her eyes unnaturally bright and limpid.

"Don't." Her voice was small but fierce. "James said not to touch him."  
  
I immediately moved away, not wanting to rile she nor James, my training overriding my intense desire to be with Richard. Instead, sure I could feel the heat of her body intensify with each step, I moved towards Mindy. She kept still, but her eyes flickered wildly as I came closer. At first side to side, as if she was going to dart around me and escape, but then her sapphire gaze moved from my eyes to my lips and back up, then farther down to my breasts. I stopped in front of her and let her look. She traced my body with her eyes; lingering over my hips and going all the way to the floor and my bare feet and then slowly back up. When she finally met my eyes again, I looked back unflinchingly as I sank to my knees. Hands on my thighs, I knelt there, looking at her, at this beautiful little woman we had all hid from for so long. I felt a maddening longing to be accepted by her, to be touched by her, even embraced. I knew she had every reason to hate me, distrust me, despise me, but I was desperate for her approval, without knowing in the slightest how to win it.  
  
"Mindy..." I whispered.  
  
When she reached out I recoiled, sure she was going to slap me. She gasped, though, as she touched me, sliding her fingers across my arm and gently squeezing my bicep and then tugging me towards her. I crawled onto the couch with her and slid my arms around her waist, burying my head against her taut stomach. She gasped again as my cheek touched her breasts but didn't push me away. Her arms came around me and for a moment she cradled me to her chest. I pushed her and she slowly gave way, letting me lay her across the couch. I wiggled around so I could be behind her where I could press my body to hers. She was looking at Richard again, holding my hands tightly; I realised to keep me from touching her any further. I relaxed, deliriously happy just to be so close, and waited for her. Gently, almost imperceptibly, she placed my hands on her stomach and between her breasts, and leaned against me. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the glowing form that represented her in my mind. Ivory, turquoise and scarlet, she was like holding flame in my arms and she proved the illusion by undulating gently, rippling her body, coaxing my hands with her own into small movements until I was petting her through her silk blouse, cupping the bottoms of her tits.  
  
The footsteps coming towards us from the kitchen startled her and she tried to pull away from me as James and Jeremy returned, but I refused to let go.

"Please, please stay with me," I murmured against her hair. "You're safest right here, I promise!"

She whimpered and hid her face as Jeremy stopped to gawk at us, twisting away until her hair covered her face and she curled into ball as I held her. I couldn't help grinning at Jeremy with a grand feeling of triumph I knew might be very short lived, but it was irresistible. Jeremy bent down and whispered something into the mass of hair and then he retreated without waiting for a response. James passed us by without a look, but he simply had to focus on how to deal with Richard. The tension in Mindy's body eased slowly and she scraped hair away from her face after a minute, peeking warily out at what the men were doing. Behind Richard, James and Jeremy had deposited their burdens on a table, and I readily identified the tools of torture. An electric wand knocked about, but James had something he'd never used on us before; a car battery with adjustable dials built on a switch board, and two leads without clamps on the end, just metal tips so James could drag them across skin.  
  
Richard sat up straight when he realised their movements were so close and held himself still, trying to anticipate what was coming. James loomed over him, standing between Richard's spread legs. At his touch, a hand clasped to his jaw, Richard flinched, twitching away. James' other hand raised slightly, and I wanted him to slap Richard, wanted to see that disorienting sensation make him hard, but the hand rested on his head instead, and I realised with the injury he had sustained, that might be something he would never experience again. I loved James intensely in that moment, for remembering, for always taking such good care of us.  
  
Mindy surprised me with her quiet question. She was obviously paying close attention, as well. "James is your Master?"  
  
"We don’t call him that, but yes. He gives us what we need. What we both want. He is my lover, my protector, and my friend more than anything else."  
  
She lay in my arms, soft and warm and I breathed her in; a mix of spicy, subtle perfume and of her husband, of their home. Now I knew the curious scent he carried some days came from her body, her nearness to him. I stroked her side and the curve of her hip. She was so still, holding herself as if ready to flee the moment I let go of her. She would run to Richard of course, her eyes never left him, but I think she well realised he was in need of something she couldn't provide. I wondered, though, if she could be taught. I could feel her breathing change each time James brought the leads near Richard, holding it until contact was made, staying still so she wouldn't miss the moment. When Richard's back arched and the chair creaked as the electricity arced through him, her body pulled against mine, as if she wanted to touch him. She wasn't shrinking or hiding from what she was seeing, from what he was experiencing; she wanted to be part of it.  
  
"Please don't be mad at him," I whispered in her ear. She jumped as if she'd forgotten I was so close to her. I felt her tremble lightly, unused to being touched by someone other than Richard. "Or if you are, know that he wanted to protect you. This is the worst part of him, he thinks, and he only ever wanted to give you the best. He never wanted you to see this," I paused. Richard was writhing as James drug one lead over the skin of his stomach and I heard a little moan escape her and she blushed. "He never believed me, Mindy," I said, pulling her hair away from her neck, bringing my lips close to her skin. "He never believed he was beautiful like this. He is though, isn't he?"  
  
She gave a little nod.  
  
"He needs this, to be whole. He's afraid you'll hate him for it, think he's sick and weak. He never told you because he was afraid of losing you." I let my lips touch her skin, trailing little kisses along her neck. "You're the most precious thing to him," I said, my heart aching just a little at the truth. "I was so jealous of you. I didn't understand how you could love him and let him be in so much pain over this."  
  
"I didn't know," she breathed.

James brought the current to Richard's legs, shocking the insides of his thighs near his groin. His penis was half hard and fat laying between his legs, and he hadn't forgotten all of James' lessons apparently. He opened his thighs to James' touch, his muscles straining at the effort.

"I didn't know," she whimpered again. She moaned louder and let her head fall to the side, exposing her pretty throat to my touch. James and Jeremy both took notice of the noise and the way she was now letting me coax her breasts out of her top. She ignored their stares and closed her eyes, leaning into my touch finally. I kept speaking to her, lips to her ear.

"Hate us if you have to, just don't hate him. He loves you so much. But he needs this, do you see? You could do this for him, couldn't you? He doesn't need us," I whispered and wished it wasn't true. "You could give him everything if you learned to hurt him, to love him like this." I tweaked her large nipples and she turned her mouth to mine, kissing me shyly with soft lips. "It's easy, too. Watch James."

He had that small, evil wand in his hand now and was pressing it into Richard's hard cock, drawing it up the length of the shaft repeatedly. He pressed firmly, using slow strokes, and Richard screamed behind his gag, but Mindy could hear something was still wrong.  
  
"He's so angry..." she said worriedly. James held the device on the bottom of Richard's dick, just under the head, and he stopped screaming abruptly. His head fell to one side and he rolled his shoulders straight, then bucked his hips, thrusting into James' grip as much as the tight straps allowed.  
  
"He's taking it," I told her, caressing her breasts and belly. "He hates himself right now and thinks he deserves this. You know better than anyone what it must be like for him. There are things he's punishing himself over that only you know about."  
  
James flicked the device but it didn't appear to gain strength and he finally relented, stepping away from Richard, and I thought he looked pale and, like Mindy, he couldn't keep his eyes off Richard even though Jeremy was talking to him, poking at the dials of the instrument. Richard went lax in his bonds, his head hanging. But his breathing was slow and deep and I knew he wanted more. James shook his head at Jeremy, who looked frustrated.  
  
"Look, you can't build up, he'll get used to it," Jeremy said crossly, as if he were discussing how to train a dog. Mindy shivered in my arms and slid onto her back, looking up at me, and opened and closed her lips several times before finding the right words.  
  
"You've all had him?" she asked without any trace of resentment.  
  
"Yes." I couldn't help looking guilty. "Jeremy wanted you to know. He found out a few months ago, just before the accident. Richard was going to tell you, but he probably doesn't remember now that now. I'm sorry, Mindy, we just did what Richard asked of us."  
  
She didn't say anything as she took my hand and placed it where her skirt had hiked up to expose her panties, and I felt sticky, hot fluid soaking through the materiel. I cupped her pussy, rubbing my palm in a small circle over the top of her mound and she spread her legs. Even Richard heard her moan this time and I saw his head jerk up and swing back and forth as he tried to find us in the room. I pulled her panties to the side and dipped my fingers into her wetness, rubbing her little swollen clitoris and teasing her hole by pressing around the entrance, pulling more fluid from her. She kissed me hard, then pulled away and turned her head, her eyes going first to her husband's bound form. She lingered there, taking in the sight of his cock and sweaty skin, the way he stretched his jaw muscles around the hard black ball—a sign he was actually feeling his physical body finally, at least a little.

But her gaze moved to James, who was arguing tensely but quietly with Jeremy. She called his name and I wondered if she saw Richard flinch when she did. James turned to us and she reached a hand out to him. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, across the room but surprised me by kneeling down beside the couch where she and I were sprawled, half naked now, wrapped around each other. His eyes were smiling though; a dark, calm sea. He looked over us slowly, always so slowly, but I knew he was seeing the details and he would remember it clearly later. He held her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. Mindy studied him for a time, and I knew it was from a new perspective. She looked into eyes that had seen her husband laid bare, into a face Richard trusted. The lips pressed to her fingers had kept his secret.  
  
"He made you lie to me," she said sadly.  
  
James tilted his head. "Yes. I am sorry for that. He thought he might stop eventually, so you'd never have to know."  
  
"Do you think he can stop?"  
  
"Honestly, no."  
  
"Could you stop?"  
  
I hadn't expected that question. James looked at me as he spoke. "It's different with me. I didn't know I wanted to do it until Richard. Now...I would stop if she wanted me to."  
  
Mindy smiled up at me. "And do you want him to stop?"  
  
"No," I said, my heart thumping in my chest at the thought.  
  
"And you," Mindy addressed me again. "You're not ashamed of what you like, of doing this, are you?"  
  
"No, I'm not. I'm sorry to have hurt you, though."  
  
She smiled serenely up at me. "I know you are. I know you both are." She paused, looking at us thoughtfully.

Over James' shoulder I saw Jeremy light a cigarette. He winked at me when he saw me watching. Richard sat still between us, head cocked, trying to listen to our quiet conversation. He was trembling, so subtly I had to hold still to be certain, but he couldn't keep his thighs from quivering. I could see by the way he held himself he was still in the grip of confusion, of his private madness. James had made little headway, and it was wearing on them both.  
  
"James," Mindy said, her voice loud now, loud enough for Richard to hear her clearly. "Show me how you do it. I want him back. Bring him back to me."  
  
I was surprised at the vehemence of her voice, of the sudden coldness. James bowed his head for a moment, curly hair hiding his face from us. Then he brought her hand back to his lips and peered at us, eyes slitted.  
  
"Yes, mistress," he drew the last word out slowly, and I shivered.

He stood up quickly and Richard struggled for a moment as he heard James approach him, but there was nowhere to go. Richard's breathing became heavier, he was blowing out deep breaths through his nose and rocked slightly back and forth in his chair, a movement I found unnerving. James stood over him, hiding in his hair again from his audience. I knew he was being devious. He turned to Jeremy and I didn't hear what he said, but Jeremy left for a moment and returned with a wet washrag, which he handed to James. Richard flinched a little when the cold drops hit his face but couldn't avoid James has he cupped his hand with the cloth across Richard's face, sealing his nose and covering any gaps he could breath through around the ball gag. James pressed his head back with one hand and picked up the two leads. Jeremy clicked the device on and turned up the dials. Holding them together and keeping Richard's nose sealed, he pressed them into Richard's navel. His body instantly arched, his spine bending away from the chair, unable to keep himself from pushing into the rods James was holding. James held him there for long seconds. I could see Richard's hands turning purple from the pull on his cuffs and had to bite my lips to keep from asking James to stop, to let him breathe. When he finally did release Richard from the electricity and allowed him a breath it was only for a moment, and the wet rag was sealed over his face again, the leads pressed to some vulnerable spot that made him writhe and look as if his spine would snap. He stopped for a minute to tuck his hair behind one ear and I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked like he did when he was at his piano playing a piece he loved.  
  
James had apparently won the technical argument. Every few minutes James would look to him and the voltage would increase, but when Jeremy began looking worried I wanted to hide my face in my hands. Mindy had sat up and halfheartedly pulled her clothes straight. She was leaning forward eagerly, cheeks flushed and her legs open, wet panties visible under the hem of her skirt. She held my hands in hers, squeezing them in time with James' hand over Richard's mouth. She didn't seem to be aware of Jeremy's or my own growing nervousness, watching James with her husband. It was distressing how relieved I was when Richard finally broke. A piercing wail spilled out around the gag which was now only in his mouth because it was strapped there. He was blowing bubbles around it, sobbing a muffled 'No' over and over, and flailed so hard I worried at the strain on his wrists and elbows when James feigned another shock by touching him with two fingers.

Richard shook his head weakly after James mumbled something close to his ear, and I thought for a moment it was over, that Richard would be released and perhaps even comforted by James or I. Or his wife. But at the same moment I looked to her, Richard made one last commotion. James had released his chest harness, but when Richard threw himself protectively over the wrist restraints, James stumbled back, and I knew he was at a loss, finally. If he released Richard now, he would fail his best friend, his lover, and Mindy would learn nothing, would understand nothing. Her husband would still be shattered. She made a small noise next to me and I felt her fingers on mine once more. I squeezed them gently, trying to give her reassurance I didn't feel.

When James turned and fled the room, she squeaked once more, her other small hand pressed to her mouth. I had to look away from the desperation and confusion in her eyes, looking to Jeremy still standing behind the table with the switchboard. There was little comfort there; he was glaring at Richard's shuddering form, and the unnerving swiftness with which he could move his frame seemed even more surreal now as he shoved the device away from him and was at Richard's side in the next moment. His words were just as shocking as his actions, but in the most unexpected way.  
  
"You're ruining him, do you know that? Gutting him, and frightening your wife. Destroying the people who love you the most! James just left because he knows he would give you what you want, because he loves you that much." Jeremy bowed his head for a long moment and when I dared glance at Mindy I was startled to see her weeping.

"But I won't let him kill you," Jeremy breathed the words into Richard's ear. "You can't leave the rest of us here to deal with the mess. Besides, I'll end up giving your wife the son she deserves, and could you really let that happen?"

That elicited an unexpected peal of laughter from the woman in question, and with it still ringing through the room, Jeremy snatched up the leads James had discarded and stuck them against Richard, one to the hollow of his throat and the other to his spine. I thought Jeremy was going to do what he swore he'd keep James from doing when Richard's head snapped back and his spine twisted like a corkscrew, his shoulder blades touching on his back. But Jezza only held him there for a few seconds. When he took them away, he wrapped the cords around his hands and with a powerful tug, ripped the leads from the electrical battery and cast the broken pieces across the room where they skittered across the floor into the kitchen. He turned and gave us a tight lipped smile, then stalked off in the same direction James had gone.  
  
Mindy still wore the remains of the smile Jezza's quip had caused, but her tears had not stopped. They looked to be glass in the odd light coming from behind her and I absurdly wanted to catch them and keep them in a jar—the bug jar, the thought came unbidden, and I squirmed. She blinked and kept her eyes closed for a moment, causing a few more sparkling drops to cascade down her sharp, pale cheek, and drew a long breath. I was suddenly terrified, alone with these two beings. And when her eyes finally opened and she turned to me, I knew my feeling wasn't unfounded.  
  
"Go to him," she whispered, and when I didn't immediately move, she lunged forward and grabbed my hair.

"I need to see you with him!" She spat the words through a clenched jaw and with surprising strength, threw me off the couch. I landed on my knees and had to scuttle after her as she stood, still holding a handful of my hair, and drug me a few steps in Richard's direction. When I kept moving towards him she let go and sat back on the couch.

I stayed on my hands and knees and touched his toes first. I slid my hands up his calves and thighs and leaned in so my breasts were pressed into his lap. He didn't react when I touched his face, so I slid my fingers under the blindfold and pushed it up. He squinted at me, searching my face, and I wondered if he'd forgotten for a moment I was here. Or worse, who I was. But he bent down and pressed his cheek to mine, and the chair creaked as he tried to put his hands on me. I tore the gag out of his mouth and kissed his lips before he could speak, pushing against him eagerly, and he opened to me. I sucked on his tongue, nipping and pulling on it, and I felt his breathing change, felt his arousal. I put my hand between us, feeling for his hard cock, and as I wrapped my fingers around it, my head was torn back by my hair again.  
  
"Mindy!" Richard gasped. I tried to turn to see her, but using both hands now, she forced my head downwards, to where I was still gripping her husband. I opened my mouth automatically and Richard groaned and shuddered as if he wanted to get away, but Mindy was relentless. She pushed until I had to arch my back and change my position so his cock wasn't hurting the back of my mouth and could slide down my throat. I had to give in to her control. I knew she could hurt my neck if I didn't with the force she was using. She rammed my head up and down over Richard's cock so fast and hard I just braced my hands on the seat and tried to find moments to breathe. Richard moaned when she held my head down with one hand, and with the other reached under and gripped my throat, squeezing and massaging his cock there. When her grip tightened, my vision dimmed and I writhed, pushing back finally. She was so strong! She held me down until my body retched on its own accord, then pulled me, unresisting, onto my backside. She pressed her body against mine as I had done to her on the couch, half holding me up as I gasped for breath.  
  
She slid her hands over my body, dragging her nails over my skin and any last bits of clothing came away with her movements until I was fully naked. Taking my hair again, she pulled my head back and bit at my neck and ears. She somehow found the scar James had left there from the night in the churchyard. Her tongue flicked over it, exploring, examining the rough tissue.

"James has hurt you, hasn't he? I bet there are more scars. Show me." Mindy didn't let go of my hair, but I found her other hand and brought it to my breasts, sliding her fingers across the rope marks there. Technically, Richard had done it, but James had made him. My wrists were spider webbed with small scars from the manacles, rough ropes, wires, and though they were hard to feel, they glowed almost preternaturally in the dim, bluish light of the room. She inspected them closely, then brought my left wrist to her lips and kissed the pulse there. I spread my legs, my fingers finding the place he'd dug a knife into my thigh. When she'd touched it, plucked at it, memorized where it was on my body, I whispered, "Richard's scar, on his right palm, happened when this did. The only time James marked him like that."  
  
"Mm, I see." Mindy shifted behind me, raising herself up. Richard was watching us, his head down, peering from beneath his brows, a strange, feral look on his gaunt face.  
  
"I don't know how to hurt you, Richard," she said. "I am afraid to hit you and I don't know what else to do. But I know you don't like seeing her hurt. I know what hurts a woman."

With that, she wrapped her arm around my throat and her other hand pinched hard at my left nipple, twisting cruelly. I yelped as she used her nails to dig into my breast and when she slapped me, her first blow made my teeth bite into my lips. I turned my head to one side and closed my eyes and she slapped me over and over, until I couldn't stand it and tried to break her hold. Using all her weight and strength, she wrestled me to the floor and straddled me, raining down open-handed blows on my breasts and face.

I tried to—I wanted to—submit to her, but I was scared. She was angry and confused and hurt, and we had made her this way, and I had never been at the mercy of someone so out of control. At that moment, I felt her palm come down on my cheekbone, her fingers smacking hard into my eye. I saw stars and curled up around myself protectively, finally unseating her. I heard a small sob come from her as she landed on her butt, but my eyes were teared up and my head dizzy from her blows.  
  
"Stop it," Richard growled and Mindy sobbed again, and I heard her feet patter away from us. I pushed myself up, rubbing at my left eye. It felt scratched and sore and was tearing. I squinted at Richard, barely able to see him, but I crawled to him.  
  
"Richard, please, don't you see how much we all need you?" I was crying real tears now, which burned my eye. I was sure it was going to bruise. "I love you! You're my best friend, and I love you. Do you remember what it was like, you and I at that awful club together?"

He jerked hard, and I knew he had not remembered it, until now.

"Remember how I screamed when I was separated from you? And then I thought, we all thought, we'd lost you forever, right after that. I know you don't remember it but James is the one who woke you from the coma, his voice, his touch, and you're acting as if you wished he had left you there, as if you don't care about us. Mindy is broken now and you have to take care of her! She needs you to love her, the whole you, every part of you that is in there. She doesn't know what to do, she needs you to guide her. She still wants you, don't you see that? How far are you going to push her, push James, into proving that?"

As I spoke I was unbuckling his wrists, freeing him from the chair. He didn't resist this time. I tugged him towards me, to the floor, clasping him against me, pushing him down until he was on his back and I was tangled around him. At first he didn't touch me, but slowly his hands came up, gripping my forearms, sliding up to my shoulders until he was holding my face. He pulled me off his shoulder, and I could see now he was crying too, from his right eye only.  
  
"I don't deserve this," he said. I had missed the sound of his voice so much, I realised. I smiled through my tears at him.  
  
"You don't get to decide that. You've proven your poor judgment many times now, but you know James and Mindy are pretty smart." He coughed a little laugh and closed his eyes tightly. I petted his cheek. "You won't have to feel this anymore. This guilt. You can be who you are, you don't have to hide. You just can't break Mindy. She needs you," I repeated, knowing he was letting himself slip back into self-consciousness. "She was so strong for you. James told me so. He couldn't even stay with you, seeing you hurt like that. She never left you, she would have stayed with you and loved you even if you didn't know who she was, or had never woken up, or lost your eye or had brain damage forever. Why would she leave you now? She forgave James already. She liked what she saw. I was right there with her. Richard, just come back."  
  
"What if she decides later she doesn't? Doesn't like me?"  
  
"You have to trust her. What would she have to do for you to trust her, to believe she wants you no matter what?"  
  
Richard's fingers brushed my swollen eye, smoothing away the tears. His own answer was lost, but another came with the return of the others. Mindy was holding James' hand and gently pulling him along beside her. Jezza followed them, a poorly suppressed smile on his face and a cigarette in his mouth, trailing smoke. Richard looked at it longingly. They circled around us, and Mindy noticed her husband's attention flitting between her and the cigarette.  
  
"You were so desperate for one in hospital, do you remember?"  
  
"Was I? I had quit, you know."  
  
"Except you hadn't. There was a pack on you that day."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Can I?" Mindy deftly accepted and lit a fresh one from Jeremy's pack. She looked like a teenager, I thought, a trouble-making preppy girl who didn't care if she was caught smoking outside the boys' restroom. She took a few long drags off it, then hooked her finger at Richard. He gave me an almost imperceptible squeeze before pushing himself to his knees in front of her. She held the cigarette to his lips but did not relinquish it to him. Carefully, without him aware she was doing it, her fingers snuck beneath his collar and when he drew back to exhale, she lowered the cigarette and rolled it across his shoulder. There was the sizzle of flesh.  
  
"Ah!" He jerked away, but she held him, feet planted firmly. She peered into his face, her eyes wide. She looked a little shocked, I thought, but excited. Cruelty was there, too.  
  
"Need to catch up on the scars, don't we? Haven't to keep them from me anymore." She brought the smoldering cherry near his chest again, but he grabbed her wrist in both hands. James finally reacted.  
  
"What are you doing? Put your fucking hands down! Now."  
  
He glared up at them, his aversion to fire resurfacing, his knowledge and trust of those in control of him now weak at best. Mindy was becoming more and more angry by the second. She tugged her arm away from Richard, but he wouldn't let go.  
  
"James!" Her voice was high-pitched, frustrated and confused.  
  
"Don't you remember this part of the game, Richard?" James spoke softly as he edged closer to us. He stepped around Richard and in one quick motion, leaned down and pulled me up by my arm. "If you won't submit to it, she has to take it for you."

I didn't protest, and I didn't try to manipulate Richard when he looked at me. Whatever I had to do, whatever James needed of me now, I would do it gladly.  
  
"Fucking coward," Mindy hissed at him. "Look at her. She's so used to you not being able to do your fair share, she's not even reacting. Let. Me. _Go_." She twisted her grip on his collar.

He flushed red and gasped, his grip loosening on her arm. She shoved him away and darted towards me. James pulled me against his body, hands gripping my forearms. His cock was hard in his jeans, pressed against my ass. Mindy took a drag from the half burned cigarette and it popped as she did, the cherry flaring in the dark room. She traced it over my breasts, just close enough for me to feel the heat. I couldn't stop a whimper of fear and pain as she slowly, carefully, brought it close my left bottom rib. She held it a hairsbreadth away from my skin, but it would leave a blister and scar anyway. When she pulled away she gave my face the same wide-eyed search she had given Richard. But there was less malice now.  
  
"Look at her," she said again. She turned slowly away from me back to Richard. She dropped the cigarette in a cup Jezza had appropriated for that service, and stood in the middle of the room, a diminutive queen, her subjects and soldiers waiting on her command. Richard knelt, staring up at her, a wretched look of humiliation on his face. Mindy clenched her fists, and I saw Jezza lean forward from his position on the couch, ready to stop her if necessary.  
  
"It's so hard," she finally spoke to her husband, "to deliberately hurt you. I've always taken care of you, always tried to keep you from hurting. But really what I've done is love you the best and only way I knew to, because you never told me otherwise. Why didn't you tell me? No, I know why, and it doesn't matter anyway. I can do this for you now, if that's what you want. But I have to learn how, and I want them to teach me. James must really struggle to do this to you. I always thought of him as a kind man."  
  
"I'm really not, but it's sort of a self-perpetuating cycle," James supplied, still holding me. "Getting angry at him for making me think of cruel things to do to him."  
  
"Has there ever been something that was too much for him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I have an idea!" Jeremy chimed in.

Richard shook his head mutely, and finally a look of actual trepidation came to his face. Jezza said nothing more, and I followed his gaze to Mindy. A slow smile appeared and her eyes narrowed, glancing back at Richard once before lifting her sharp little chin. She went to Jezza then, walking past Richard without another look. Jezza pulled the small woman into his lap without hesitation and her bell-like laughter was immediate.  
  
"Richard," James snapped as the other man moved from his knees. "Come here."  
  
" _Fuck_ ," was the broken reply, but he came to us, slowly, head down, unwilling to see his wife in the arms of another man. I couldn't look away.

Mindy looked like a doll in Jezza's lap, and her tiny body glowed next to the drab colours of his clothing, especially once he had her completely naked. He lifted her easily, bringing his legs together so she was kneeling there, her head thrown back as he peppered her with kisses from her ears to her breasts and back again. He could fit her whole breast in his mouth, and he did, devouring her until she was writhing and panting, gripping his curly hair for balance. When his hand moved to part her legs and his long, thick fingers disappeared, I squirmed in unison with her.

Richard twitched next to me as James slipped his fingers under his collar and pulled him around to face the couple on the couch. I watched him covertly, watched his eyes slowly travel from the floor in front of him, to the space he was previously occupying, to the edge of the couch, then back to the floor. He made it to the couch again, and this time I shifted and James allowed me to go to my knees next to Richard. He looked at me, agony in his eyes, and I could feel his body trembling.  
  
"She's not just yours now, anymore than you were ever only hers for a long time. She just didn't know it. She accepts you, you have to accept her," I whispered to him, sliding my arms around his unresisting body. James tugged on Richard's collar, dragging him back to face the couch. Jeremy had turned Mindy around, she was on her hands and knees on his lap now, ass in the air, Jezza's face buried in her backside. She looked like a cat in heat, body arched, mouth open, fingers splayed, gripping Jezza's knees.  
  
"Does this hurt?" James asked, loudly. Mindy opened her eyes and pushed back onto Jezza's tongue, wherever it was.  
  
"Yes," Richard breathed, and I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. James shook him by the collar. "Yes!" he cried.  
  
Mindy laughed again.  
  
"Good" James said. "Now you have a whole new set of sensations to be hurt by. In case you were getting bored with everything else. What, is this not what you wanted?"  
  
Richard's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He was staring fixedly at his wife now. Jeremy's fingers were working in and out of her pussy while he lapped at her ass. His other hand was slowly opening his belt and pants. She stared back, smiling shamelessly, blue eyes aglow in the dim light. Her eyes slid down his body, and she bit her lip when she saw what I had felt a moment before. Richard was hard, though he was still shaking, straining against James' hold on his collar. Mindy looked at me then, and tilted her head. James understood. He pulled us both back a few steps with him until he was sitting in the armchair, and holding Richard tightly down on his knees, his back to James' legs, he guided me until I felt Richard's cock against my pussy. I needed no more guidance. I lowered myself down slowly, savouring the feeling of being filled. By him. I had doubted it would ever happen again.

He made a plaintive noise, then belied it by bucking his hips. His breathing was laboured and I knew he was struggling against James' control. There was a sharp slap as James appropriated one of Richard's wrist cuffs and was using it now to lash down across his chest, bending him back across his knees even as he strained to be closer to me. I leaned down onto my elbows and slowly rocked back and forth on Richard, moving purposefully, keeping a slow counter rhythm to the blows I felt through his body. Jezza's cock was free now and very proportional, and he maneuvered Richard's wife gently, holding her to his chest with an arm around her ribs, his other hand cupping her pussy, lifting her slight body with ease. Her eyes were closed, but her lips parted in a vowel as she was lowered onto him. Her arms came up, wrapping around Jezza's neck, and he let her hang there, undulating, legs spread wide, his cock snaking halfway in and out of her body, shining and wet in the dimness.

When the leather strap came down across my back, hard, I opened my legs, arching and fucking myself on Richard wantonly, feverishly as James lashed at me. The pain was intoxicating and I loved it, loved what I was seeing and feeling, the maelstrom of sensations almost too much to bear. I pushed up on my hands, offering my back and shoulders to James' brutal strikes. Jeremy was watching, eyes flicking between the alabaster body writhing on him and us, and when Richard groaned I glanced behind me, hoping he was seeing his wife's pleasure. James was making sure of it, gripping a handful of Richard's hair, keeping his head aimed at the couple. He moaned again, and Mindy opened her eyes, recognising the sound.  
  
"Don't come inside her, it's mine!" There was no mistaking the threat in her tone, but I couldn't stop. The friction and heat building between her husband and I had me seconds from my own orgasm. Richard had gone as still as possible but I was determined. It was James putting a foot to my ass and literally kicking me off Richard's cock which kept me from driving us both into disobeying her.  
  
"Oh, so disappointed!" Mindy giggled as I tumbled onto my side. She held a slim hand out to me, gasped and laughed as she had to retract it to hold herself steady as Jeremy bounced her hard, then held it out again. I crawled to her, wiggling my ass at the men behind me, knowing my pussy was wet, swollen and looking well fucked. She put her hand to my head and pulled me in between their legs, guiding me where she wanted me. I had never been with a woman before, but it was easy to see where to start. I opened my mouth wide and pressed my tongue to her hard clit, letting Jezza's movements push her against it. I moved lower after a minute, lapping at his cock where it was sliding into her before moving back up. She whined, and when I turned my face slightly and sucked the little bit of flesh between my lips, she came with a loud cry, pulling me hard against her pussy by the back of my head, but Jeremy broke the seal of my lips on her by lifting her under her thighs and dropping her roughly, repeating the movements until he was sweating and she was making sounds of half-pleasure, half-pain as her own weight buried him inside her. I nuzzled my way back between them, finding his balls—with decidedly short cropped hair, I noticed, and smiled—and took them in my mouth.  
  
"Christ, that's a good girl," he said, breathless, and as I swallowed as much as I could, tongue out, lapping wherever it would reach, I felt them tighten and his cock surged against my cheek as he emptied himself into Richard's wife. She grunted as he pushed her down, his huge hands nearly encircling her waist. I felt her touch on my cheek and lifted my face to her, receiving a grateful, though slightly sinister smile from her. She twisted around, breaking Jeremy's hold, and kissed him briefly, whispering something to him I couldn't hear. She stood and, legs shaking the first few steps, crossed the floor to where Richard was still kneeling. James had released him and was leaning back in his chair, his normal aloofness having returned somewhat, though he narrowed his eyes at me for a moment. I sat down on the floor next to Jezza's knee and waited, knowing I was going to pay for this closeness and attention to him later.  
  
Mindy had regained her composure. She stood over Richard, regal and lovely, her high, firm breasts and taut belly heaving with her deep breaths. The expression on his face was distantly familiar, and after a moment I remembered where I had seen it before; in the restaurant the first night I had met him, when he had appeared so suddenly before me. Now I knew it to be a mixture of fear, arousal, and jealousy. And compliance. He was finally letting go of his own agenda, giving himself over to those he trusted. She touched his cheeks, his lips, his lashes and closed eyes, put one hand on his forehead and pushed his face towards the ceiling. I heard his breath catch in his throat as his collar tightened, but he didn't struggle. We all saw her other hand move between her legs, and as it neared Richard's face, Jezza let out a little snort of laughter which blew his lighter out before his cigarette was lit. His come was smeared slowly across Richard's lips. His eyes opened but he stayed still. Mindy's pushed harder and he opened his mouth to her sticky fingers.  
  
"Should I be afraid you won't love me, my darling?" He shook his head, lips dragging strings of saliva and ejaculate back and forth. She smiled and pushed her hand deeper into his mouth until her thumb hooked against his cheek. "But you know I am cross with you?" He nodded, gurgling a little as he swallowed. She twisted her hand around and he gagged. When she unexpectedly looked at me and rotated her hand again, I squirmed, knowing perfectly well what she was thinking. Jeremy clicked his tongue, and I blushed. Mindy pushed Richard on his back, her wet hand working slowly over his cock. She straddled him and slapped his hands away when he tried to touch her. "Above your head!" When he complied, James moved his legs and put his shoes on Richard's wrists. She beamed up at him as she lowered herself onto her husband. "I want to see everything you have in that closet of yours, James. I know you have things that will keep him from touching me, seeing me, fucking me, until I let him!"  
  
"All at your disposal," James said, his voice low and rough with emotion. When Richard kicked his legs, frustrated at the slow rhythm his wife was using, I crawled forward, wanting to be closer to James. I grabbed Richard's ankles, straightening his legs out and putting my weight on them. James was watching me, and I bit my lip, hoping he approved of my actions, and hoping he was alright. Stretched between us, Richard was panting, and even that became more difficult when Mindy leaned over him and pinned him to the floor by the back of his collar. Her body slammed down on his, deliberately slow, her come filled pussy squishing loudly as she rocked her hips. She was hissing words into Richard's ear at first, then as her movements sped up she caused him to cry out as she sunk her teeth into his shoulder and held on, bouncing on him as hard as she could. He twisted under us and arched his back, and Mindy let go with her teeth and let out a little moaning laugh as he came, and as he gasped under her she said, "What if I get pregnant? Who's baby would it be, hm? Shall I give James a go, too? We'll all be even, then."  
  
Richard groaned as if in pain as she slid off of him and stood, her body sleek with sweat, and advanced on James, hips swaying licentiously, moving like a jungle cat. He was ready for her, lust evident in his movements. He pulled her roughly into his lap when she was near enough, guiding his thick cock inside her with one hand, his other on the back of her neck, moving her down and onto him until she was rolling her hips, trying to take all of him unsuccessfully on the first try. Her forehead rested against his and her body shook with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him. When she kissed him, I felt Richard shift, and then his hand was on mine, tugging me gently to lie next to him on the floor at their feet. He looked relaxed finally, if exhausted. He pushed tangled hair back from my face, smiling even as his face flushed and tears slid down his cheek. I brushed them away and kissed him.

When James growled sharply, we both jumped, but it was Mindy who had hurt him, biting his lips, snapping at him even as he jerked her back by a handful of red hair. She laughed and raised her hands to grip his wrists tightly, arching her back as he pulled her hair. He shook her, gripping her jutting breasts in his other hand, nipping at them and running his teeth along her ribs. She squealed, rocking and bouncing frenziedly, and James seemed the only one unsurprised when she suddenly let go of him, forcing him to hold her up entirely, and hid her face in her hands.

Her sobs were heartbreaking, and in my arms Richard cried silently with her, and I knew he wanted her, wanted to comfort her, but he was the source of her pain. James twisted his hand in her hair until she whined, and thrust into her, jarring and causing her to grab his wrist again with one hand. She whimpered but her body responded to his movements with a will of its own and she didn't resist when he let go of her hair and pulled her down on his chest, arms around hers, pinning her to him. He shifted lower in his seat and began to fuck her, hard. Her sobs turned into gasps, and then a moan, until she was mindlessly keening, "Yes, yes yes yes yes!" He let her go when she struggled, and she raised herself, hands on his chest, legs spread wide and angled to let him bury himself in her, his curving cock stretching her pussy obscenely.  
  
"Thank you," she cried, and James smiled wolfishly. "Oh, thank you for loving him, for taking care of him for me this whole time." She tried to kiss him again, but he drew back, and she mewled with need, her words coming in bursts and gasps. "I am not mad at you, I couldn't be! I love him, and you've made him be good, haven't you? Ah!" She was breathless and unable to speak for a moment as he hammered into her. "James!" she finally managed, and he tossed his head back to see her better. "Would you never touch him again if I asked it of you?"  
  
His motion didn't falter. "Of course," he said evenly, but didn't try to hide how much that would hurt him.  
  
It was her turn to smile evilly. "I know," she sighed, and finally pushed back down fully over James' cock. "I won't make you though! I want you to do everything you've ever wanted to him now! I know you've hurt her instead because it couldn't show on him, and I want to help you do it to him. He deserves it!"  
  
Richard reacted, making an indignant noise, and I realised he'd been holding his breath. James kicked at him and he flinched back.  
  
"I know he does," James agreed solemnly, "but more than deserve, he needs it. And wants it. So does she." He relented to Mindy's begging and allowed her to kiss him again. "That's why they make such a beautiful pair," he said when she had to breathe again, and he turned her head to face us, and it was like that, the two of them gazing down at us, as James finally came. He did not release her for a long time though, his hands exploring her tiny form, playing with and petting her until she was sighing and whimpering with pleasure. She put her head on his chest and slipped her hand between them and had her own orgasm over James' still-hard cock, her body taking up the men's come and I envied her then, painfully, for the chance of having any one of their children.

"Well, our dinner dates have taken on a whole new twist, haven't they?" Jeremy said. He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched as well as he could with James' low ceiling. "I have to admit I'll miss the air of mystery wafting around all this," he flicked his hand around vaguely at us, "but I'm delighted to have been a part of it. But now, I'm going." He blew a kiss, stepped over Richard and I and disappeared out the front door.

I felt Richard give a sigh of relief, and then he nudged me, pointing with his chin. Jeremy had left his cigarettes for us. James was still holding Richard's wife, curled limply in his arms, her red hair and white skin the only light and colour in the dim room. When she murmured something, James picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He sat her on her feet at the door and closed it behind her. A hand to the door frame, he leaned against it heavily for a moment before returning to his chair. His elbows on his knees, peering from under his tangled hair, he watched us, and I shivered.  
  
"That's right, princess. I'm not quite done with you two, yet. Are you alright, Richard?"  
  
Richard nodded slowly. He looked tired, I thought, and he had half his attention on the closed door of the bathroom. He flinched when it opened and the light hit his eyes, and I put my hand over his face. Mindy left the light on but her shadow cast over as she neared and Richard peeked up at her, nuzzling my hand out of the way. She had splashed her face, the little strands of wet hair clung to her forehead and cheeks, the rest she had pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Her skin glistened too, where she washed away the other men's saliva and come, but there were still marks; Jezza's teeth at her breasts, James' fingers on her hips. Her blue eyes were fever bright, but her voice was calm when she spoke.  
  
"Do we have to stop, James?"  
  
He smiled. "No, and I was just telling them that. I guessed there would be more you would want to see."  
  
"Very much more. Will you show me? And, will you teach me, too? I want to be like you are, I think. I like this, and he wants it. Look how good he's being, for once. Quiet, still, patient." She bit her lip, failing to hide a smile. "He's never like _that_ at home. Always so fidgety, restless and moody. This is why, isn't it? Richard?"  
  
"Yes," he answered honestly. She nodded to herself and chewed her lip a little before glancing at James.  
  
"Go on, Mindy," he encouraged.  
  
"Her, too?" And when James inclined his head, she said, "On your backs, both of you." She stepped closer to us, watching as we rearranged ourselves side by side on the floor. My fingers sought Richard's and twined with his. I was afraid of her, there was no denying it.  
  
"I like her piercings. Should I have mine done, Richard?" She ran her hands over her pert, white breasts, thumbs grazing the large pink nipples.

Richard swallowed hard. "If we had any more children, you might not be able to breastfeed them then."  
  
She smiled. "Well, if in nine months I don't have to breastfeed, maybe I'll do it. Would you still love a child of mine that wasn't yours, my husband?"  
  
"Yes," he said again. "I love you. I love our children. I would love anything that you loved, anything you want, whatever you want."  
  
"Why is she crying?" Mindy said, frowning at me.  
  
"She can't have children," James supplied. "I think she's envious of your family, sometimes."  
  
"Is that right?" Mindy eyed me thoughtfully. "Jealous of my children while you were fucking my husband all this time. Would you have gotten her pregnant if you could have?"  
  
Richard said "yes" as James said "no" and I sobbed. Mindy laughed, though it sounded more like a growl to me. She lifted her chin and turned to James, who was staring at Richard with murder in his eyes.  
  
"Something they both hate?" she suggested.  
  
James' piss sprayed us in the face, and I shut my eyes tightly, shivering in the cold bathtub, huddled with Richard in the bottom of it. He shook off the last few drops and held his hand out to Mindy, who gave him the toy. He'd taken a moment to collar me and gather some things before herding us into the bathroom, Mindy trailing behind, a smug, excited smile on her face.

James wanted to fuck Richard himself, I could see it in his eyes, but he wasn’t sure Mindy would respond well to this new debasement of her husband, even though it had been done so many times before. He smeared lubrication over the dildo slowly, lost in some little fantasy, studying Richard kneeling before him. Richard was breathing heavily and sniffing, trying to clear his sinuses of piss and he only reacted to James inserting the thick dildo into his ass when it was too late and too deep. I arched my back, obedient and willing, wanting nothing more than to be a good slave to James, to show Mindy I wanted this, desired this.

Richard gasped as James pushed the dildo into him enough to bend it so he could press the other thick head against my asshole, and then, twisting and pushing, he worked it inside of me. The head was huge and hard to adjust to, especially when James stopped as it was just stretching my hole, ready to disappear inside of me, and rotated it slowly around, twisting the shaft until it moved inside Richard as well. James pulled it out of me and I felt his fingers take its place for a moment, wiggling around in the loosening ring, and then the dildo returned and he steadily applied pressure until it was sliding up my ass easily, past the ring of protesting muscles. Mindy made a delighted noise and moved closer to us.

“Fuck them, however you want," he said, guiding Mindy’s hand to the inches of shaft visible between us.

She tentatively slid the dildo back and forth and when neither of us protested, she picked up the speed, and the force. Soon her little fist was pounding against our assholes and we were both moaning as the dildo snaked in and out of our guts. I felt her other hand exploring between my legs and she laughed when she found my soaking wet cunt with her palm.

“Ohh, she likes it so much, doesn’t she?" Mindy giggled. James didn’t reply, but then Mindy said, “You like it, too, I see. You’re hard again. Will you fuck me, James? I want it again, and Richard doesn’t get to fuck me for a long time, I think. I need cock. Will you, please?"

“Of course," he replied, politely. “But, I’ll be right back."

Mindy torqued the dildo, stretching our asses absently, slapping one or the other of us from time to time. James returned in a few minutes, rattling. He instructed Mindy to keep fucking us while he secured straps to us. Wrist cuffs to our collars, then elbows to our knees, and there was now no way for us to push ourselves up off the bottom of the bathtub, and when the water started, I knew what James had in mind. He pushed the stopper down and the chill water rose inexorably. It wasn’t running fast, and would take some time to fill the tub completely. Less time to cover our faces. Richard screamed. He thrashed, but James had bound our thighs to each others, wrapping a belt around either leg, and we were pinned to each other, the dildo sliding between our asses as one or the other of us struggled and our muscles tried to expel it only to push it into the other. James pulled his pants open and lifted Richard’s wife easily, setting her on the sink and spreading her thighs as he stepped between them. He lifted his heavy cock and pushed it into her. He fucked her slowly, and they both turned their heads to watch us drown.

I tried to stay calm, but it was hard, especially knowing Richard’s fear of the water. Thinking to distract him, and hoping that if the couple fucking to our predicament were to orgasm we would be rescued, I fucked myself, hard, against the cock in my ass, driving it into Richard until he was moaning again, burbling and grunting as the water came up near our faces. Mindy was whimpering and fingering herself rapidly, her mouth open, while James let his cock slip in and out of her with small, gentle movements of his hips. She came quickly, shuddering, her eyes squeezing shut, panting, her legs kicking behind James, but he didn’t change his pace, and as the water touched my lips as I strained against the belts, I knew he wasn’t in any hurry. Richard tried to rear up suddenly, the force pushing the long dildo into me as far as it would go and I cried out as it hit bottom, hurting me, and inhaled water as he pushed me forward. I tried to take a deep breath, managed half of one, and my face was underwater now. I could still hear, the water just lapping at my ears, and Richard let out a pitiful wail that was lost at the last moment under the water. I tightened my muscles around the dildo and rocked back against him, and our cheeks were touching now, the dildo swallowed almost completely by our bodies. I could make out a dull thudding as the water filled my ears and I hoped it was James fucking Richard’s wife harder. I pumped my hips, hoping to inspire him, fucking Richard as I began to panic. He had gone still, conserving his oxygen I assumed, but I had to keep moving, had to perform, and I tried as best I could, willing to go as far as James wanted to push me. The water was over my head now, and nothing we could do would gain us air. It was too late. We could only be saved now.

Mindy’s hand on my cunt again was what gave me hope. I felt her slap there and resisted, barely, the urge to scream. There was a pop and then the water started to recede, not nearly fast enough, but I was distracted from my impatience when I felt her fingers inside of me. Then her knuckles and then she pushed, hard, and I had no where to go, no ability to stop her as her little hand was sucked inside my cunt. There was pain at first, but it faded, changed, into a dull ache, the kind that wants to be rubbed away, and I rolled my hips, feeling my cunt close around her wrist. Her fingers found and stroked the thick toy through the thin membrane separating one hole from the other, and then she rotated her hand, curling her fingers into a fist and trying to withdraw. There was no way her hand was going to come out, as full as I was.

It felt _so_ good.

When James snapped a thin cane across my back, my only response was to rock forward and then back, hard, onto Mindy's hand. I forgot about Richard, forgot about breathing, about being cold. My whole world was only this pleasure and pressure and pain of what they were doing to me. I came, untouched, and surprised myself by screaming without inhaling water. Mindy hesitated, but James encouraged her to keep moving inside me, slowly, he said, carefully, and he switched targets, and it was Richard fucking me now too as he arched and bucked under the cruel slap of the cane. James was speaking, explaining to Mindy where a cane could do damage, where it hurt the most without danger to us, and here across the buttocks where it could draw blood, and he did on Richard and the dildo torqued and slithered inside of me as Mindy worked her fist almost into my belly.

After that, her hands were inside of me until the morning sun filtered through the shades and James insisted we stop to eat and rest. Her other hand had replaced the dildo once James had pulled us from the tub and she'd helped James tie me across a footstool while she watched James fuck her husband for the first time. He'd asked her permission and when she had given it, James had barely been able to disguise his relief, but her anxiety I had felt as she tormented me, her hands thrusting together with every move James had made into Richard, taking out on me her insecurity.

James must have seen it, seen the pain and fear on my face when he'd finally had Richard again, after so long, and that was when he'd decided to stop, at least for a little while. My body felt so empty when she'd withdrawn, and when James had taken me into the bathroom to clean up, he'd explored with his own fingers how she'd opened me up, and he'd made me come again, kneeling in front of me, his mouth sealed over my cunt, my hands in his hair. Richard and Mindy were making love under a blanket on the floor when we came out and James led me to his room, putting me in one of his shirts and half dressing himself before calling out for food. The lovers on the floor were done by the time breakfast arrived, and clean and somewhat clothed, we quietly ate, looking at each other just a little shyly in the daylight. I slept in James' bed with him that morning, Richard and Mindy in mine, and they were gone when we woke up in the late afternoon.

A note on the table in Mindy's flourish said simply, _Thank you. We love you. See you soon._


	14. Chapter 14

_Change waltzes in with her sister Pain_  
_waiting for you to send her away_  
_wish her well break the chain_

 

 

Drowsing in the fitful sunshine, the murmur of the women’s voices lulling me, I rested my cheek on the cobblestone patio and waited for a command. I loved the smell of the heated stones, and the wafting breeze brought hot grass and horses to my nose, and these mixed with the smell of almond lotion one of the women had been wearing, and the scent was on my face. Sarah, I guessed. I had been blindfolded as I had sucked on the toes pressed to my lips. She was speaking now.  
  
“Me, married? To James? That’s a laugh!” She had such a musical voice, I thought. “I couldn’t care less about all that. He wanted to keep her, and it’s cheaper than buying her citizenship, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s not just me is it, James _is_ rather, ah, frugal?” Francis asked, snickering.  
  
“Conservative, he would say. He buys _her_ things, though.”

I gasped as an ice cube thudded against my spine and dropped down my ribs to melt near my left breast. There was a twittering of giggles as my skin pebbled and Mindy threw another cube, fished from her glass, onto my back, this one staying in place and pooling into water slowly between my shoulder blades. I half wished she would rub more over my ass, which was still heated and bruised from the paddling she gave me with the back of a wooden bath brush right before the three of them, Mindy, Sarah, and Jeremy’s wife Francis, had gone down to the stables to ride horses for a while. Now they were relaxing on the patio, gossiping. Sarah was in town for another week before she would be traveling to San Francisco for work, where she would meet with James as he wrapped up the wine tour he was filming with the dreadful Oz. Sarah and James would spend a few nights in California together, then he would be returning home. My pussy twitched at the thought. I wondered if Sarah would tell James that she had been spending most days here at the castle, keeping Mindy company during the day whilst Richard was busy, or would she brush off questions about her lover’s wife and leave it to me to relate the weeks of ruthless punishments I had endured in his absence? I bet on the latter.

I had been spending more and more time with Richard’s family now that Sarah was on again with James. We were married now, and my obedience to him was utterly without question, and extended to Sarah, the silvery waif of a dance critic who was every bit as demanding and possessive of James as he had hinted at. At times it seemed she could not stand the sight of me, and if forced to keep company with me for whatever reason, she turned into a never ending font of torture. My breasts were her favourite target, and I knew that even if she quit now, the welts would not be faded before James returned and forced out of me details of every last blow that created them. She had goaded James into building a scaffold of sorts where I was often secured, my tits garroted away from my chest and roped to the structure. Sarah could spend hours with me, in the garage or, if Mindy picked us up in her Land Rover where there was room to dismantle the simple scaffold and carry it back to the castle, in their basement, beating my tits bloody. She loved to tie them and watch, waiting for an hour or more sometimes, as they swelled with blood and darkened in colour and I tried to keep my composure, failed, began to cry with fear, then beg, offering her all manner of service if she would relent, pleading with Mindy to soften the heart of the other woman, to spare me, but it never worked, and at times enraged Sarah, making my punishment for being in James’ life all the more severe. She had her own arsenal of switches, canes, bundles of broom bristles, leather belts and riding crops she carried in a neat little case, and she loved laying them out before me in varying order so I could see just what was in store.

Occasionally, Richard was made to watch, Mindy in his lap, teasing his cock into reluctant hardness even as he shook his head and tried to plead with his eyes for my pain to end. I missed Richard. We were together rarely, and most often under duress. But I was happy for him. At last, he was free. Though he still suffered fits of depression and self-doubt, he had support from everyone now.  
  
James seemed to understand, more than anyone, Richard and I’s need for each other, and he did his best to give us time together. The attention of those dominating us was important, necessary, but our relationship was something they could never match. We needed time to play, to act like children, to not have demands put upon us. James would claim time with us both, as was his due, and would release us once we were away from everyone else. Sometimes we would team up on James, get him drunk, tease and annoy him until we were victims of his irritation and it would be like it was in the beginning, and afterwards James would just watch us as we cuddled on the couch, fingers exploring welts and marks, soothing each others aches. We would leave sometimes, too. James would wave us away and turn to his writing, and we would pretend to steal a motorcycle, or his Porsche, and ride away towards the coast to find a lookout point and we would eat cookies and burgers and Richard would bounce in his seat telling me of some foolish idea he was dying to try for the show. Sometimes, we sat in silence, watching the ocean, conscious of how incredible it was that we were in this moment at all.  
  
As much as I needed Richard—my brother, my friend, the one person I could always count on when I felt confused—and as much as I respected Mindy, and feared Sarah, and liked Jeremy, it was James that I loved. That he loved me, I had no doubt now. We were married on the anniversary of the day we had met, in late summer three years later, Jeremy and his wife as witnesses, and they had tactfully departed as soon as the simple ceremony was over. James asked me what I wanted for a honeymoon, and so it was he told everyone he’d left the country, and we went driving. He drove, I read to him. We were stuck in traffic and took turns picking music and playing it loudly, windows rolled down in the rain. We hiked up trails to old castle ruins, and down into meadows so I could peer into ponds and count frogs, and we stopped in the evenings at any motel that would take us and was close walking proximity to as many pubs as possible.  
  
We were lying on a picnic table somewhere in Cornwall, staring up at the stars while the ocean crashed on the beach below. James had been telling me about poetry and how Cornwall was a place of poets and history, and swirling his cigarette around as he spoke. He’d taken up smoking, mostly to annoy Richard who was still trying to quit after his accident had renewed his interest in it, and I, just a little drunkenly, watched it trace its red tail against the black sky. I didn’t realise he’d stopped talking at first. He sat up suddenly and flicked his cigarette over the stone wall at the edge of the cliff. I watched it sail through the air and disappear, and laughed, then looked back at my new husband, and he surprised me by grasping both my hands in his.  
  
“Tara, are you happy that you are here with me now?”  
  
I looked up at him. His expression was urgent and intense. His hair was long and as wild as ever, his blue paisley shirt—the one I had slept in the night we had met—open at the collar and covered by his leather jacket. His hands were warm and firm, squeezing my fingers in the way he knew I liked, but now there was a new sensation there, the simple gold band. I could feel it against my knuckles, and the pressure of his grip was causing my matching slim ring to hurt my other fingers, but I didn’t pull away.  
  
“Yes, I am very happy. Can’t you tell?”  
  
“I like to think so, but I wanted you to say it. I need you to say it. I need you, princess. I don’t know how I ever got along without you. I think all I’ve ever wanted was to feel like I was good enough for someone to need me, to depend on me, to not want to be without me. I know you could get along without me, and that you were doing just that when we met, but now, you want to be with me, don’t you?”  
  
“I do,” I said solemnly.  
  
“I am not sure I could, that I would want to, _ever_ , be without you again. Oh, my work will separate us, but know this; I will always be thinking of you. You are my strength, Tara, and I can only hope you find as much stability in me. Sometimes I feel like I am lost. I forget why I’m doing what I’m doing, sometimes I even hate what I’m doing, hate being who I am, and now all I have to do is think of your beautiful face, remember your voice saying my name, and I can bear it all again, I can focus, I can get through what I have to to be able to come back home to you.”  
  
“James,” I said.  
  
“It’s true. I am a very different person than I thought myself to be a few years ago, but I know I am now who I’m supposed to be, because you are with me. You are so strong, so smart! And all of this feels so _right_ , and there’s no way any of it could have been possible without you, and I think that’s going to be the way of it from now on. I look to you to know if I am doing the right thing, in all that I do, and if you are happy, then I know I’m going in the right direction. You’re everything good to me. I want to help you be happy, as much as I can. As much as you can take! Tell me if you’re not happy, and I will change the world for you, I swear I will try at least. Just, love me. I love you, and I will do anything for you. I could never love anyone the way I love you. You have my heart, princess, and you alone dictate what I do with the rest of me.”  
  
I stared at him, overwhelmed.  
  
“I mean it! Richard, my job—” he looked down, embarrassed, “—Sarah, any of it, whatever you want of me, I will do for you.”  
  
I nodded, smiling up at him, but I could not answer him with words. Not yet. I knew it was there and let it come roiling to the surface, dealing with it myself before making any promises or demands. Jealousy, fear, control, paranoia, it was a ball of hurt that lived somewhere in the back of my skull and anytime it was given a second glance, it expanded and threatened to rip me open from inside. But that was before this moment, and I let the ball grow until I could see every last detail of it. Every instance, real or imagined, that had made me feel small or disposable or without control over my own life, and I shined James’ light on it, his love for me and his promises, and let each one dissolve under the heat of his feelings for me. Some took longer than others to burn away.

Richard disappeared from the miasma as if he were never there to begin with. There was no animosity there, no fear, only a slight sense of competition, and worry about what he was potentially heading us towards. But that was over now.

There was nothing in James’ life related to his work that I wanted to change, especially now that I knew he was forever linked to me, that he took me with him in his thoughts, that what he did was so we could both enjoy the life it afforded us.

As for Sarah... Here the pain smoldered and ached, but gradually I turned my back on it. We were nothing alike. He could not love her because she would not let him, and though that did not make me feel very much better, it was the truth, and I was thankful for it and so it had no more power to hurt me. And she could never be to James what I was, even if she had loved him and he her. She was no submissive. She was not soft, she could not bring comfort to James, only exhort short bursts of passion from him, and her scorn and indifference would always hurt him in the end. Perhaps that is why she left him at times, perhaps as close as she could get to caring for him was to see that she was making him suffer and then to leave before it got any worse for him. In the end, I pitied her. She had a brilliant career and seemed happy with her lot, but I knew what she was missing, what she let slide through her fingers like sand scooped up at a lazy, rare, warm day at the beach. And it dawned on me slowly that perhaps James needed that from her, needed her coldness to remind himself to not be like her. And, maybe, as Richard and I required time together because we were alike in a way no one else could really understand, perhaps Sarah and James did, too. Perhaps he found in her someone who identified with his selfishness, his cruelty and callousness and the need to act upon it. She was his retreat, possibly. And I was certain then that I did not want to know for certain, but I would not deny him that if that’s what he needed, so long as he never came away from her and back to me damaged.  
  
Fingers snapped loudly, and I lifted my head. Mindy beckoned me forward and I stood and walked to her, kneeling down again at her feet. She gave a sweet, private smile as she gave me orders for more drinks and food to bring to her guests.  
  
“Oh, here, before you get grit all over inside.” She stopped me as I went to do her bidding. Her hands ran over my body, brushing away grass and stone that had stuck to or embedded itself in my skin, and I hid my pleasure at her gentle touch. We were closer than the other women suspected, perhaps even closer than James or Richard were aware. With so much of our lives spent apart from our husbands, we kept each other company, and satisfied. She gave my left nipple a sharp pinch, and I stifled the smile that was creeping onto my lips at her attention.  
  
“Go, and then put clothes on, the girls will be back soon,” she said, and sent me on my way with a slap to my ass.  
  
Mindy had been unpredictable at first, as was natural I thought, but dangerous James said, and he did not allow me to be alone with for a long time. He was not wrong to be protective over me. Several times he had to step between her sudden wrath and my body. There was no one thing that preceded its onset, it was simply as if she was overcome by the occasional urge to kill me. James was safe from her menace, I guessed because he had hurt Richard, had punished him, and had made her life less stressful in the long run having been in the shadows helping her take care of her husband. I was simply the other woman. Richard had unwittingly announced his affection for me to her, and there was no taking it back, even if we’d wanted to. But our bond grew as time passed and I became a more constant fixture in their home. James and Richard were both increasingly busy, the drama of Richard’s near-death had rocketed their names into the papers and the news, and they were more in demand now. Both had offers to do other shows, guest appearances, hosting, and more, and that left Mindy and I alone. Her aggression towards me slowly abated, though she never ceased showing obvious delight in my pain and discomfort and fear when I was at her mercy, bound to her husband in some way or transfixed between she and James, my body invaded and even fought over at times, but I think once she realised, and began to believe and trust, that James was who I was devoted to, first and foremost, that there was no danger of my stealing her husband from her and that he was still as able as ever to love us all without leaving anyone out, she became less dangerous. It took her a long time to treat me as any sort of equal, however, and it was their children who inspired that, eventually.

She had called me out of the blue one day, panicked, trapped in a mire of traffic and the girls were waiting at home with a sitter who was needed in the city, and could I possibly take them in for awhile? The sitter dropped them off and rushed away, leaving me with two suspicious, adorable girls with their father’s mouth and their mother’s eyes. They held hands and frowned at me and I loved them instantly.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, little grouses, your Mum will be here for you soon. I’m Tara. Have you ever been here before?”  
  
The eldest nodded. “James May lives here. He’s Daddy’s friend. Who are you? You’re not English.”  
  
We were soon tentative friends. I showed them on a globe where I was born, and where I had met their father and James. Sugar cookies I had made while awaiting their arrival endeared the little one to me, and she climbed on my lap to watch a dog show on the television. Soon, I was covered in crumbs and they were both giggling, pointing out which dogs were most like the several they had at home, and then we were lucky enough to find a documentary on horses, and it was this we were almost done with when Mindy flew in the door, James having given her a key. She was pale and worried, glancing around the room as she hurried towards us, as if seeking evidence of some disaster. The girls didn’t even move, clutching cookies, their eyes like saucers on the horses of the show. Mindy faltered and finally looked at me. I smiled from behind Izzy’s head. Mindy slowly, hesitantly, despite herself, smiled back.  
  
“Oh, hello, Mummy! Come watch ponies with us?” Izzy waved a clutching hand in Mindy’s direction without taking her eyes off the television. We spent the next few hours laughing and dreaming about all the wonderful horse fun to be had, and when it was time to go, Willow spoke up.  
  
“Can Tara spend the night with us, Mummy? She’s all alone here! Daddy and James May are gone away, and we should have a sleepover. Please? Daddy won’t mind!”

I hid my grin, poorly, when Mindy said, “I am sure he wouldn’t mind, baby. But maybe she wants to stay home?”  
  
I had nothing to stay home for. Fusker was the kind of cat who drank out of the toilet and didn’t wolf his food, so a pile left for a day or two would last him. But I was still wary of Mindy.

“Well, thank you, Willow, for the invitation, and I would love to see where you live. I have always wanted to, you know.”  
  
“‘s a castle!” Izzy chimed in.  
  
“So I’ve heard! Are you sure you don’t care, Mindy?”  
  
She looked at me for a long time, her crystal blue eyes unreadable. Izzy had traded my lap for hers halfway through the next horse documentary and now twisted around to look up at her mother. “Mummy, she is very nice, and she could live with us, too.”

Mindy looked surprised. Izzy was Richard’s shadow, and usually trusted no one but him. That she liked me so well was a singular thing.

Mindy smiled at her daughter. “Well, that was fast.”


End file.
